


take your time (coming home)

by CallofTheCurlew



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Complete, Cute, Each applicable chapter has a content warning, Eventual McPricely, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love, These Boys are a MESS, friends to lovers i guess?, gunfire, mcpriceley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22670305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallofTheCurlew/pseuds/CallofTheCurlew
Summary: In the aftermath of their denouncement from the church, Connor McKinley is feeling pretty okay about it all. He feels less okay about Kevin Price though, who plasters on a smile that is too wide, too fake, and marches on like his emotional breakdowns don't matter. As District Leader, he feels like it might be his job to help him make it right - whether Price wants it or not.
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price, Elder Church/Elder Thomas (Book of Mormon Musical)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 114





	1. after arnold

The first few days are hard.

Before Arnold (the era affectionately referred to as BA by the Ugandan's), the schedule had always been relentless. Up at 6:30, lights out at 10:30. Their mornings were spent studying and praying, the middle of the day was for proselytizing, and in the cooler afternoons, they would exercise and continue studying and praying. Every minute of their time was supposed to be spent with reference to the whole point of their mission.

After Arnold (AA), things aren't so simple.

Connor McKinley lays in his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he feels, in his soul, the clock tick past 6:30am. With his blanket pulled up to his chin to keep the flies (and the scorpions) away, he shifts ever so slightly to check that the time is indeed 6:31.

"Should we get up?" his mission companion, Chris Thomas whispers from beside him, having heard him shift.

"Technically we don't have to," Connor whispers back.

"It feels... wrong,"

Connor nods, watching the minute hand as it makes another pass. Now it's _two_ minutes past the time they should have been up. "Kind of feels good, too."

Chris lets out a breath of relief beside him, "I was hoping I wasn't the only one who thought that..."

"We could lay here all day, if we wanted..." Connor breathes, letting his eyes flutter shut.

He lays in the silence for three minutes longer, until his eyes open again and he sits up, stretching, "Five minutes is enough for me today," he says, before he smirks over at Chris, "Maybe tomorrow I'll even go ten."

"Ooh. Scandalous," Chris grins back widely, and he sits up as well, raking his fingers through his short blonde hair. It's the little rules that they enjoy breaking the most.

It doesn't take long for Connor to be up and ready for the day. Even BA, he was the first one up, and apparently now that it's AA, things aren't about to change. He works quietly on breakfast; today is like every other day with posho but as a special treat he managed to get his hands on some matooke, which almost resembles porridge and bananas if you squint. Chris joins him a few minutes later, and one by one the other missionaries emerge from their rooms. Each of them sports a sheepish look as they poke heads out of their rooms, relaxing once they realise that Connor isn't going to yell at them for their tardiness.

Unsurprisingly, the last to leave their room is Kevin Price, who looks well rested and refreshed for the first time since Connor had seen him arrive. It's a full hour after the usual wake-up call, which is almost impressive that he'd managed to stay asleep for so long.

"Breakfast has somehow gone both gluggy and dry at the same time, but you're welcome to it if you want?" Connor tells him helpfully, leaning over the kitchen counter. It's a bold move; he doesn't really know how stable it is and can already hear it creaking under his light weight. 

"No, no, McKinley. I'm quite alright. I'm sure it was delicious though."

Kevin, like most of the other missionaries, has dropped the 'Elder' when they speak to each other, but even he hasn't seemed to kick the habit of using their last names quite yet. Connor finds it sweet that they're all testing their new found freedom in tiny rebellions. Like now, they sit with the early drafts of the Book of Arnold, learning the stories that the Ugandan's know by heart. It's unconventional by every means but it makes them happy, and that's all Connor strives to achieve now as District Leader.

He watches Kevin now with utter curiosity, his thoughts lingering on that so-called happiness. Kevin is so different from the young man he'd met barely a week ago. Changed, somehow, despite the big grin he sports. It's getting easier and easier to tell which is the fake smile and which is the real one. He's the only one that's without a copy of the book, and instead he sits back against the couch with a blank look on his face.

"Uh, did anyone else _not_ have the hell dream last night?" Davis asks seemingly out of the blue, pulling Connor from his thoughts, and around the room there is a chorus of exclamations about their peaceful nights. It's good to see them so pleased, relieved of their guilts. 

"I started to, but then I dreamt that the Ugandan's came and scared Satan away. It... was kind of awesome!"

Connor smiles from the counter, but he can feel that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Different variations of the Hell Dream have plagued him nightly since he was ten years old, but somehow even removing himself from the faith isn't enough to stop the dreams. He doesn't know why; perhaps it would take a few days. Perhaps he would always get them. He didn't mind though. He's always curious about how Lucifer would take him each night as he starts to drift. No longer were they frightening, but just served as a gentle reminder of the daily sins he committed just by existing.

"McKinley, yo, you still in there?"

Connor tunes back in and locates the missionary who had spoken, noticing he looks about ready to throw something at him. He must've spaced out more than he thought, "Hm?"

"We were talking about what's next for us."

"Yeah, what do we do, District Leader?"

He considers for a moment, tilting his head towards the ceiling as the rest of the boys turn to look at him. There are termites eating into the wood and he makes a mental note to check with Mafala about natural remedies for infestations. Only then does he consider the actual question.

"I guess..." he says quietly, before glancing towards Arnold, "We follow our new prophet, right? What does the Book of Arnold say we should do, oh wise one?"

With eight pairs of eyes turned towards him, Arnold laughs just a little too loudly. He's much better at speaking in public these days, but being put on the spot does nothing for his nerves.

"Uhh...Uh-well," he panics, shooting wide eyes around the room until they finally land on his mission companion, begging for help.

"Well, we're all about helping people, right?" Kevin takes mercy on him and kick-starts his train of thought, giving the other boy a reassuring smile. It's the fake smile, Connor notices. 

"Yeah, yeah. Helping people. Of course, duh. We help people. We tell people about the Book. It helps them. You know? Mormon stuff."

Half the boys are nodding sagely, while the other half turn to Connor with eyes that plead for help translating the vague nonsense.

"We're still Mormons," Connor agrees, "The Book of Arnold is a layman's way of explaining the stories from the Book of Mormon," he explains to them, mostly making it up as he speaks. It seems to work for Arnold, "It contextualises the Book for people who may not be able to understand the complexity of the teachings, giving them stories they can relate to." 

"Does that make us layman Mormons?" one of them quips, and the others chuckle along with him.

Connor grins widely and glances at Kevin, but the boy is just staring at his hands with a small frown. He makes another mental note to check on him later.

"If we're layman Mormons, does that mean we have the same rules? I mean, we all got up pretty late this morning."

"Pfft," Arnold interjects, "The book of Arnold accepts all schedules." 

"The only real rule is that we're here on our missions to help people," Connor tells them, "To give them hope for the future. Whether the latter day is tomorrow, or the afterlife, people should have hope and we should be helping them find happiness and paradise within." 

"And we should still be really effing polite to everyone." 

"Amen!"

Another round of laughter ensues and Connor can't help but be proud of them all. Sure, there was initial panic, but the boys had all taken it in their stride. They're so strong, after what they had been through together. Kevin especially, even if he _is_ worryingly quiet now.

"So...what I'm hearing from all this is that we can definitely have a rest day today, and then tomorrow we figure out just how we're going to help everyone?"

"Best. Idea. Ever!" Arnold exclaims, before he turns to Connor, "Is that...okay?"

"I don't think you have to ask permission anymore. Just... don't get yourselves killed or eaten, and I'm here if anyone needs me?" 

That's all it takes for the boys to clear out. He assumes Arnold will be heading to the village to be with Nabalungi. Thomas and Church will sneak off together, he's sure. His gaydar flashes incessantly whenever the two of them even look at each other, and with their newfound freedom, perhaps it will allow them to get to know each other better. The other boys will most likely scatter to the village, or the watering holes for bathing and maybe even fishing. Mafala had taught some of them to hand-fish, a technique called "noodling", which provides hours and hours of entertainment.

Without Connor having to ask him, Kevin stays back. He remains on the floor, leaning against the couch, looking so lost in his own world that Connor is reluctant to break the trance. Instead he starts clearing up from breakfast, making sure there is no reason for the flies to infest their kitchen. He remembers in their first week, Michaels had left a scrap of food out, and by the next morning there were so many maggots that Connor was seriously contemplating just lighting their entire hut on fire.

"You're a good district leader."

Connor startles at the sudden noise. Somehow Kevin had gotten up without him hearing and is now standing on the opposite side of the counter, just _watching_ him.

"Oh," Connor says, putting the last clay bowl away. He leans against the sink, aiming for casual but his worry about the stability of the pipes has him changing to one of the other counters, "Thank you."

"You know, I keep thinking about something you mentioned when I first got here. You told me that...you'd heard great things about me. That you looked forward to seeing what I could do for the District..." his sad eyes find Connors, "Sorry for disappointing you."

It's the last thing Connor expects and he barks out a laugh, which only has Kevin's eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "Please, Kevin... It should be me who's apologising. Most missionaries freak out on their first couple of nights. I should've known better than to think that you were going to be okay, especially after- well, especially after the things you saw. All that blood..."

"I stormed out. Good Mormon's don't break Rule 23."

"Good Mormon's don't have sinful thoughts about members of the same sex, but here we are," he says it so flippantly that Kevin just balks at him for a moment. Connor shrugs in response, "Layman Mormon's or not, we're still probably all going to Hell if there is a God up there, so I may as well at least be honest with myself. I should have followed you."

"So we could both be eaten by lions?" Kevin asks, "There was nothing you could do. I was being unreasonable."

"Which is different to how you usually are, then?"

Kevin manages to crack a smile at that, leaning against the counter and huffing quietly. He goes silent then, reflecting for a moment before he seems to remember the original point of this conversation, "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for staying, despite everything. You guys were all so ready to leave..."

"But you convinced us otherwise," Connor tells him, but he feels like he's cut Kevin off from what could've been a fun rant, "There's no need to thank us."

By the way his eyebrows narrow, Connor wonders if Kevin was looking for a different kind of outcome to this conversation.

"Is there... something I can help you with?"

Kevin lets out a long huff, before fixing Connor with an even stare, "I want you to tell me that I'm a bad person."

"That would be lying," Connor doesn't look at him as he continues to wipe down the counters, "You aren't a bad person."

"I don't believe in God."

"Why does that make you a bad person, after everything that's happened?"

"Because this mission is in the eyes of Heavenly Father," he says, pacing up and down the small space they have, "We're here on His behalf, spreading His good word. And I don't even believe in Him."

Connor nods slowly, "You're a little bit like a yo-yo, did you know?"

Kevin glares at him, "What?"

"Yesterday you were all about this new life of ours. That we were still Latter Day Saints _, even_ if we didn't believe. And now you're freaking out about not believing. A yo-yo."

"I'm _not_ a yo-yo. I just-" he huffs, "I'm just...confused."

"Then try talking to me instead of just diagnosing yourself with false labels."

"Rich, coming from someone who told me to turn my feelings off last time I was confused."

Connor waves him off dismissively, "That was old, repressed Elder McKinley. Feelings are important now. So hit me. What's the _feeling_ , not the problem."

Kevin continues to glare at him for just a moment longer, before he finally relents, "I don't know," he admits quietly, "Angst?"

Connor lets out a quiet laugh, "Angst," he echoes, which only has Kevin glaring at him again, "Okay, okay, sorry. I didn't mean to mock you. I just- angst is pretty broad," he murmurs, thinking for a moment, "What's the biggest thing that's making you- angsty?"

Kevin narrows his eyes at the other for just a moment, before he returns to pacing up and down, thinking, "Not believing anymore."

"And you're...upset, because of it?" Connor fishes, still not quite understanding.

"Look," Kevin huffs, "You know the story. Devout Mormon wants nothing more than to help the needy and fulfil my purpose, so that when the latter days come, I get what I've always wanted.

"Planet Orlando, right?"

"Uh- yeah," Kevin mutters, sounding surprised that Connor remembers, or even knew. Connor shrugs, so he presses on, "Devout Mormon goes on his mission to a place the opposite of what he prayed for, nobody listens and everything is _terrible_ and a man gets _shot_ in front of him, so he suffers a mental breakdown and a run-in with the- the General," the way he stutters over his name has Connor's ears perking, but he lets Kevin continue, "And then he returns to find him and his entire District renounced by the Church, through no fault of his own," he says, finally ceasing his third person narrative, "It...just felt like...wherever I turned, there was a hurdle that I couldn't quite make it over, even though I prayed and worked so hard to be the best Mormon I could be."

Connor can't help but smile sympathetically at the other man. They're both nineteen, and while Connor is older by only a few months, he feels like he's listening to the sad tales of a young child. Kevin seems fragile though, and he doesn't want to scare him off when he's just starting to open up.

"Do you want a passage from the Book of Mormon, or from the Book of Arnold?" he asks with a small grin, and Kevin fixes him with an eyebrow of judgement, "Fine, I'll make something up," he says, pausing for a moment to think it through, starting with a summary, "You feel like despite your devotion, Heavenly Father turned his back on you? And instead of an easy mission, you came up against challenges and hurdles you weren't quite prepared for?"

Kevin glowers at him, "It's not _that_ simple."

"Isn't it?" Connor asks him, head tilted curiously, "What I'm hearing is that _you_ turned your back on God the second it got too hard. The Book of Mormon spoke of the way Nephi suffered, even though he was highly favoured by God...and Lehi promised to his son that the Lord would "consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain," if you remember rightly. There are countless tales of devout worshippers who faced challenges because _God_ placed them there to test their faith and to help them build resilience."

At first, Kevin just looks mad, until Connor's words start to make sense to him. Connor watchs as he shifts from anger, his eyes widening to realisation, before he pales in horror. Across the counter, Connor reaches for his hand.

"Hey, hey...look at me," Connor urges him gently, fingers creeping up his arms until he can grip the fabric of his shirt, getting a better hold in case Kevin triess to bolt like he had the other night. Kevin seems frozen, unblinking as he just _stares,_ "Kevin!"

Connor resists the urge to shake him, instead tugging him out the front door and into the fresh but hot air. It's a wonder Kevin manages to stay upright, his legs barely working as he staggers through the house.

"Sit down," Connor murmurs, pulling him down onto the poorly made steps of the missionary hut. Kevin lands with a thud and a wince, the only thing that seems to pull him from his panic. He seems surprised he's outside, looking around for a moment before he turns to Connor, unshed tears in his eyes.

"I failed?"

Connor's mouth twists as he thinks about it. On one hand, he's the District Leader on behalf of the Mormon's. On the other hand, the Mormon faith had abandoned them without even letting them explain. He probably needed to address both sides of the coin here.

"You're going through a tough time," he says delicately, "And I think what you need to do is sit down and find out what you really believe, Kevin. It's okay to believe in God. It's okay to be a Mormon and follow the teachings. It's okay to gloss over their contradictions if your intentions are good," he tells him quietly, "It's okay to believe in God but not in the Mormon teachings, or in any religion that exists. It's okay _not_ to believe in God, and it's okay to believe in the Book of Arnold as well."

Kevin listens in silence to all the options, but there's that small frown on his face and Connor raises an eyebrow to prompt him to ask the question on his mind, "What's _not_ okay?"

"This angst that you're feeling," Connor says, poking him in the chest, "Sure, you're allowed to be unhappy- you're allowed to feel disappointed in the fact that everything has changed and nothing lived up to your expectations- but not long term. Not when it can be resolved."

"How do you _know_ all this?" Kevin asks, shaking his head as he lays his head in his hands.

"Because I've struggled with the same questions since I was very young," he tells him softly, unashamed, "Because all this doubt isn't new to me. And if we're being honest, I think I came to my conclusions years ago."

"Why didn't you leave, then?"

Connor scoffed, "Your parents are Mormon, right? If you thought anything different, would you have told them?"

"I guess not."

"Exactly. I was already on thin ice with my parents for most of my teens. Serves me right for not being able to keep secrets. I thought that telling them about my fantasies for other boys was a perfectly acceptable dinner conversation."

It takes Kevin a moment to process his sentence but then he snickers, and Connor's just glad to see him smiling again. It's the real smile this time.

"What about you?" Connor asks softly, "Did your parents have the sexuality conversation with you?"

"They didn't have to," Kevin tells him, and Connor frowns ever so slightly, waiting for the rest of his sentence, "I'm not gay."

It hurts more than it should, especially considering that Connor already _knew_ that. In the first hour that Kevin and Arnold had entered the hut, Kevin had told them that he wasn't having gay thoughts, all because Connor wrongly assumed where his confusion was coming from. It was like he has a one track mind, honestly. 

He can't help himself, shifting away ever so slightly. Connor knows he's a tactile guy, even with members of the opposite sex. With parents, friends, people he's not interested in. It's just that physical contact strengthens his connections with people, and he also is _very_ aware that some people don't like that. _Especially_ straight boys when they're talking to overly affectionate gay boys.

He's so painfully aware of it right in that moment that he needs to move away to reassure himself that he's not making Kevin uncomfortable. If Kevin notices the shift, he doesn't say anything, and Connor tries to move on as if it never happened.

"Of course," he nods, "Makes sense, I guess. Why would they?" he chuckles uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. He thinks a mosquito might have gotten him, or maybe it's just his discomfort creating an urge to move, "Um, are you feeling better?"

Kevin shrugs, "A little," he admits, "Still confused, but at least I have some direction now. More hurdles..."

"I think you'll find hurdles in any way of life you choose, Kevin. It's how you choose to get over them that will define who you are in this life..."

Kevin pauses, his face twisting into something that almost seems impressed, "That was actually incredibly deep, thank you for that. For now I think I'll continue to throw myself bodily at them and hope they don't hit me back on the way through."

Connor chuckles, leaning his head on his hand as he contemplates for a moment, "Any idea which path you'll take?"

"First I have to figure out whether I failed the test God sent me and now he hates me, or decide that there is no God and that I threw myself at a Warlord with nothing but pure dumb luck on my side and thank that he didn't shoot me where I stood."

"You'll have to tell me the whole story one day," Connor shakes his head, "The little bits and pieces I've gotten so far are definitely not enough."

Kevin winces, shrugging as he finally gets to his feet, "It's not a nice story, but maybe, since you've been so nice to me."

Connor shakes his head, standing up as well, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm your District Leader. I'm here to help, and I'm actually trying this time."

"Well, thanks, anyway, for what it's worth. I was serious before. I think you've been doing a really great job out here,"

"Thank you," Connor murmurs, and Kevin flashes him another _real_ smile, that lights up his eyes and crinkles his nose and _damnit_ , Connor needs to stop thinking about just how pretty he really is.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk, clear my head, I guess. Maybe try and come to some conclusions..." Kevin tells him. 

"Alright. Just remember; Don't get eaten!"

"Our new mantra," Kevin says, giving him a small wave before he starts off in the direction of the village.

Connor watches him go, noticing the way the sun hits the blonde tips of his hair in _just_ the right way and _\- damn._

Connor McKinley is so screwed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sister and I have seen BoM more than is healthy for our bank accounts (with one show left to go on Friday), and now she's also writing BoM fic (just to further the obsession), so please go and [check her out](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom_Valheru/pseuds/Phantom_Valheru/works) too because she is _amazing_.


	2. the week ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, BoM is gone from my city and yet I'll still be here writing fic I guess...  
> Thank you to my amazing sister who gives me excellent feedback after I send her my fic every 20 lines or so and points out my plot holes :) A link to her profile is in the last chapter!
> 
> CW: Panic attack. Look after yourselves!

Kevin Price sings. A lot. 

It's something that Connor hadn't noticed until he starts to pay attention to it. At any point in the day he can skirt past the other man and hear him narrating his day through song. It's soft, most of the time. A ballad about how the sun dries his clothes, or a hymn about putting on his socks. Any time he hears the low murmur of Kevin's voice, it has him smiling, straining to hear what it's about this time. 

"Have you ever thought about producing your songs?" Connor teases when he catches him one day, halfway through a song that vaguely sounds like "fuck, fuck, fuck, holy fuck my fucking finger why are hammers like this?" 

It seems Kevin's gotten quite fond of swearing, too. 

"What?" Kevin laughs, popping his index finger in his mouth to soothe the pain. It shouldn't be sexy - he's _injured_ , for Heavenly Father's sake - and yet somehow Connor finds himself looking away, distracting himself by just how dry the ground is looking these days. 

"Your songs. The- you know. Like the one about your finger."

It takes Kevin a long moment of incomprehension before his eyes widen in realisation, "Oh! My- my songs..." he says, but he's not embarrassed about it. Trust Kevin Price to be comfortable with his idiosyncrasies, "No- no, that's- I barely realise I'm doing them, most of the time. I can't believe you noticed, I'm sorry if they're annoying." 

"No!" Connor almost reaches out to grab him, to stop Kevin's train of thought, before he forces himself to fall short and only holds his hands out, "No. It's actually really-" Endearing? Adorable? None of them seem to fit, "Funny- as in, fun to listen to. Don't stop. Please" 

Kevin just laughs at his stuttering, taking his finger out of his mouth to inspect it and rubbing it on his pants after he deems it healed, "I don't think I can at this point, but I'm glad it's not bothering you." 

"No, not at all," Connor smiles, shaking his head, "Also, I've heard that hammers work a bit better when your fingers aren't under them." 

"Oh!" Kevin's eyes widen in surprise, "What? After all this time, and all I had to do was not put my fingers under? Oh, McKinley, you're a genius!" 

Connor grins to himself as he wanders away from the hut that Kevin is helping to repair. He likes to make the other man laugh, loves seeing that smile on his face. For the first few days the real smile was hard to come across, but Connor sees it more and more as time moves on. He's grateful for it, and the fact that the other boys are mostly all settled too. They have their routines, and while Connor is still a little freaked out about how they're going to afford...anything, really, he's much more comfortable knowing that nobody else is burdened by those worries. 

"McKinley!" Thomas approaches him, Church in tow, a thick wad of paper in his hands. It's most likely the letters to their parents and he focuses his attention on the beaming blonde in front of him instead of the fact that his own letter is amongst that wad. 

"Thomas! Church! Shouldn't you both be off to Kampala right now? Have you got the shopping list?" 

"Soon, soon," Thomas promises, "We've got everything, don't worry. We just wanted to say goodbye, and wish you guys luck!" 

"Wish us luck? You're the ones driving in a rickety car. We should be wishing you luck." 

"Oh no. I checked under the hood, that thing is not safe to drive," Church says with a shake of his head, "No, we'll be taking the bus," he explains, but somehow it doesn't make Connor feel any better. 

"I didn't know you were into cars?" 

"I'm not," Church grins, "My dad taught me all about them, despite my reluctance. But it kept him busy, so..."

There's an unspoken story there, and McKinley wants to say something to reassure Church that he did a lot of good for his mother. But...nothing seems appropriate, so he simply nods his brows drawn tight as Thomas squeezes his hand. 

"You boys will need to be careful." 

The three of them turn to Mafala, who stands next to one of the huts. Thomas drops Church's hand almost immediately and they take a step away from each other. 

Mafala barks out a laugh, shaking his head, "You do not have to worry about it here. This village welcomes all walks of life. But you will not find that hospitality in Kampala." 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Thomas says indignantly, but McKinley watches both of their faces go red. Church looks scared, his eyes wide and panicked. Connor knows that Mafala would never hurt them, but he also feels an overwhelming protectiveness for them both, ready to jump to their defence if needed. 

"Just be careful then," Mafala advises, kind and gentle as always. He doesn't seem offended as he walks away, and McKinley turns to the two boys. 

"He's right. You'll have to be more careful when you get into town," he tells them, but Thomas is bristling 

"There's nothing to be careful about because there's nothing going on," he growls, "Can't I hold my friends' hand when he's not feeling all that great?" 

"Not in Uganda," McKinley ignores his rage and speaks calmly - it's only natural after being called out like that. Especially if he does have feelings for James Church, then it makes it even harder, "People won't naturally jump to the 'friends' conclusion, even if that's all that's going on." 

Thomas glares up at him, before his face softens slightly as he directs his attention to the ground instead. Connor can see he understands, even if he doesn't want to. 

"We better get going, Chris..." Church murmurs softly. 

The use of his first name has Connor melting a little and it only cements his suspicions. He would need to make sure he scheduled them for more jobs together.

"Yeah. Alright, let's go..." Thomas says, glancing up at Connor and sighing, "Okay, well. We'll see you in a week." 

Connor nods, "See you in a week. Be safe, and don't get eaten!"

They both wear small smiles as they start the trek to the bus station, and Connor watches them go with a frown. 

"Stubborn boys." 

"Just scared, I think," Connor turns to Mafala, who has somehow managed to creep up on him again.

"They have good reason to be scared. I do not know much about your faith but something tells me that it does not look kindly to men like you." 

Connor fixes him with a sharp glare, but it's a knee-jerk reaction. He drops it almost immediately as he blinks and nods, reciting , "Attraction between same-sex couples isn't prohibited, but actually doing anything with them is," he explains. 

"Your prophet Arnold thinks different, no?" 

Connor frowns, "I've never actually bothered to check." 

"I think that Arnold would want to you be happy, in whatever way that means for you," he says, "Which means you should stop being a coward." 

"What?" Connor deadpans, eyebrows furrowed.

"A coward, McKinley," he says brightly, "Nobody is fooled by the way you hide from your feelings." 

Now it's Connor's turn to be ruffled, shaking his head, "I'm not hiding from anything," he says petulantly, "I know exactly who I am, and exactly what my feelings are. I don't need to tell that to anyone in order for it to be true."

"You misunderstand, and I do not mean to cause offense..." Mafala tells him gently, "I merely meant that you have not expressed your affections to the one you're clearly pining for." 

Connor's face flushes, "I'm not _pining_ for anyone." 

It startles him, how obvious it seems. He tries so hard to keep his feelings in check, not touching him, only talking to Kevin when it's necessary. Maybe Mafala has it wrong. Maybe Mafala's just _guessing_.

But Mafala gives him a knowing look and Connor's caught off guard, huffing and shaking his head, "Even if you _were_ onto something, which you aren't, he's not interested." 

Mafala makes a noise that tells Connor he's dead wrong and walks away with a smirk, but Connor refuses to think about it too hard. Kevin had _told_ him he wasn't gay. There was no question about it, and Connor wasn't going to delude himself into thinking otherwise, no matter what the well-intentioned village leader happened to think. 

He'd been trying so hard not to think of this very scenario that he's still grumbling to himself about it when one of the villagers darts past him, her eyes wide and clearly in a panic. He stops her with a gentle hand on her arm, "Is everything okay?" 

"One of them is here." 

"What?" he asks, "What, who?" 

"A guardman who shadows the General. He has returned." 

A icy shard of fear shoots from Connor's throat to his stomach and he briefly thinks of Kevin, wondering if he's still at the huts. It wouldn't take much for Connor to get to him, to make sure he's okay. He doesn't know exactly how much he suffered at the hands of the General, but he can't imagine having him return so soon would bring back good feelings.

"Is the General with him?" Connor asks nervously, but she shakes her head.

"Not that I've seen, but nobody is taking any chances." 

The General is usually one to announce his presence, but after being intimidated by the village, Connor thinks that being cautious is the right move. 

"Where was he?" 

"By the huts. He was looking for Masika." 

Connor's stomach drops a little further down his body. By the huts. _Of course._

He can't help but run, his heart racing as he imagines the state Kevin might be in. Would he be afraid and inconsolable, barely able to string a coherent sentence together? Running isn't exactly his strong suit and he's breathless by the time he reaches the narrow strip of road that houses the living huts, scanning the rooftops to look for his friend. 

When he doesn't see anyone, he starts looking for Masika and the guardsman, but if he's honest with himself, he doesn't know what he's going to do if he finds them. Hide, maybe? 

Finally he spots them, off the path slightly and...

Well, it's not what he expects. He watches the young man press a kiss to her waiting cheek. It's definitely consensual, and she reaches out to him to hold him close in a tight embrace. It's intimate in a way that makes Connor strangely uncomfortable, like he shouldn't be watching something so private, and he tears his eyes away. 

One of the guardsman, in a relationship with one of the villagers? 

"All walks of life," he hears Mafala murmur to him, and Connor whips around to face him in surprise.

"What are you, Rafiki?" he mutters back, letting out a breath, "So you'd allow him in the village, after the things he does while he's with the General?" 

"What choice do we have?" Mafala asks, "If we don't allow him in the village, he'll bring the General back to...take care of us. But he poses no threat while he is alone." 

Connor lets out a steady breath, thinking for a moment, but he supposes it makes sense, "How long have they been-" 

"A long time. Years. Little Tumelo is their son."

It's a strange concept, and he knows there are lots of things similar that Connor has barely scratched the surface of knowing. Things that in Western culture wouldn't be surprising, but seem to be a big deal here, and comparatively, things that weren't a big thing here that he'd be horrified by at home. Sometimes he doesn't know whether he should be pleased or outraged. 

"And yet he still works for the man that threatens to mutilate the girls..."

"Masika has made her decision. Whether it's love, or protection, it was her choice to make." 

Connor frowns, but he nods slowly. He recalls that nobody really talks to Masika much; they avoid her at meals. Now he knows why, at least. 

"It would be probably in your best interests to check on that boy of yours too. He fled very quickly once Baako arrived." 

Connor stiffens at the news, looking to Mafala and nodding, "Thank you. Did you see where he went?" 

"Back where he feels safe, in his home." 

His home. Another strange sentiment that has Connor smiling slightly, even though he's worried about Kevin. They'd all come to call this place home now. He ignores Baako and Masika and that crisis for now, going to their hut at the end of the road and opening the door. 

"Thank god," Zelder murmurs, "Price is in his bedroom. Cunningham is with him, but I think he'd prefer to see you." 

That's the second person today to infer something about them, and Connor glares, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that Cunningham gives the worst advice," Zelder says, hands rising defensively.

Connor lets out a soft breath. Trust himself to start jumping to conclusions. He just needs to breathe.

"Sorry," he says, ducking his head, "Thank you, Zelder." 

He knocks twice before letting himself in, finding Kevin hunched over himself on the mattress with Arnold by his side, a tentative hand on his back. 

"Hey, hey look. McKinley's here," Arnold shakes Kevin gently, "Hey McKinley. Hey, so. There's a-" 

"I know. I saw him," Connor says quietly, and Kevin looks up with wide, wet eyes. 

"I'm fine," he promises as he sucks in a shaky breath through his teeth, "I'm fine, just..." 

"You don't have to be fine," 

"I want to be fine," he protests softly, "It's stupid-" 

"It's not stupid," Connor cuts him off, taking a seat on his other side, "I heard the man- Baako - is pretty much a regular in the village." 

A tremor runs through Kevin's body and Connor watches him bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. 

He's said the wrong thing and he backtracks quickly, "Breathe, Kevin." 

Kevin's staring at the floor with hard eyes, fists clenched. His chest rises and falls only very slightly, and he's so still that Connor actually feels the grip of fear, not for himself, but for Kevin's welfare. He has to think fast. 

"Kevin. What colour is the sky?" 

The question is so random that Kevin blinks in confusion, frowning, "Uh-what?" 

"What colour is the sky, hm?" 

"It's- uh, blue," he stutters out, the ditch in his eyebrows deepening. 

"Yeah? And the dirt?" 

"Um, red. It's red." 

"Good. Where are we?" 

The next response takes him a little longer, but he manages, "Kitguli, Uganda." 

"What continent are we on?" 

"Africa."

"Okay good. Now, breathe." 

Kevin exhales deeply, the request easily followed now that his brain isn't lost in panic. His body loses it's rigidity as he relaxes, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. Connor lets out a breath as well, silently congratulating himself on handling the situation well. 

"Whoa..." Arnold murmurs, blinking up in surprise, "That was like- Jedi mind-trick levels of greatness..." 

Connor side-eyes him slightly with a small smirk, "I wasn't elected District Leader for nothing." 

"Thank you, Connor..." Kevin murmurs, straightening up and looking over at him, "I- I guess I'm not fine. I... I saw him and just...freaked." 

"Sounds pretty natural to me," Connor says quietly, watching Kevin while he talks to ensure he doesn't send him spiralling into another panic attack, "Mafala says he means the village no harm. I...learnt that he has a relationship, and a child, with one of the village girls, Masika, that's why he's here." 

"He's not going to hurt me," Kevin echoes softly, and all Connor wants to do is reach out and take his hand, squeeze it tightly and reassure him. Hell, he just wants to touch him, the same way Arnold is - rubbing his back and scooting close to comfort him. Connor knows it's his own fault he won't touch him, but still. He annoys himself. 

"Yeah, and even if he tries, we're gonna keep you safe, right? You don't have to go out there alone," Arnold tells him, and Connor is glad he said it first. If Connor tried that, it would've sounded too mushy, and too leading.

Kevin stands; it seems the physical contact from Arnold has reached it's limit, and he starts to pace. 

"I appreciate the offer, but that's not what I want. I don't want to be- reliant on someone every time I have to leave the house." 

Connor nods, conflicted because Kevin needs the independence, but he doesn't want him to have to suffer alone. 

"If you feel a panic attack coming on, you find someone, okay? Whether it's Mafala, or me, or Arnold, or any of the other guys," Connor says softly, "We'll help you through it."

He watches the conflict pass through Kevin's face. He knows that feeling; not wanting to rely on others for help. He's done it all on his own for so long that sharing the load seems impossible. _He_ had wanted to be remembered for his greatness, not him plus his team. 

Finally he nods, "I will. Thank you." 

Satisfied, Connor gets to his feet, "Did you end up finishing that hut?" 

"No. I- I had to leave..." 

"Well, we're going to get a drink of water, and then I'll come help you finish it, okay?" 

Kevin nods, and the new task gives him direction and focus, "Okay. That sounds good." 

As Kevin leaves the room to go find some clean water, Arnold turns to Connor with wide eyes. 

"You have got to teach me that." 

~~~

The week passes slowly. 

They repair huts, they tell stories around the campfire at night. They go fishing and they cook food, and they find more and more ways to help the villagers out, while still managing to spread the good word. The rest of the boys are even learning how to spin the stories they know from the Book of Mormon into relevant, bastardised versions of the text, though nobody manages it like Arnold does. Despite all this, Connor is still stressed about money. Their rations will run out soon, and while the villagers have been incredibly generous so far, they need to live and make money too. 

Within the week, Kevin has two encounters with Baako. The first time, the man doesn't recognise him, passing him with a smile as he walks with Masika, but Kevin trembles for the rest of the day and doesn't let Connor leave his side. Still, it's progress, and the next time it happens, Kevin stands a little taller, and his hands only shake slightly when he offers the man a small smile back. 

"You don't have to be okay with it, you know..." Connor murmurs softly as they kneel together in the dirt, running their clothes through the water buckets. 

Over the week, Kevin has spent more and more of his time with Connor than before. Connor's trying not to think about it too hard, but he can't help it. It delights him, and every second spent with Kevin is a good one.

"What do you mean?" Kevin asks, inspecting his shirt for the stubborn grass stain he'd been trying to get out for the past ten minutes. 

"With Baako. You don't have to sit there and smile at him and pretend that whatever happened to you was okay." 

Kevin shrugs, "I don't want to hold a grudge forever. He was just doing what he was told. Like we all were. We would've done anything for the Church." 

"I don't think those two things are comparative... It's not like we were intentionally causing harm..."

Kevin shrugs, and Connor wonders if maybe he doesn't believe that. Hindsight meant that yes, Connor was definitely aware of the lasting, damaging impact that the Church had on himself and the other men in his care. But he also knew that in the moment, it didn't feel like damage. It felt like salvation and hope, and purpose and a future he could be proud of. 

"Well...however you need to deal with it is fine. I just wanted to let you know that it didn't have to result in you being friends with the world. Not everyone deserves a redemption tale." 

Kevin gives him a small smile, "Thank you," he says quietly, shrugging lightly, "I feel a lot better these days, and I know that you've had a big hand in that. So thank you."

Connor can't help the thrill that runs up his spine, and he's about to say something as equally cheesy when there's commotion from the village. Kevin looks nervous until they hear someone screaming Church's name in greeting, and they both relax. 

"Sounds like those two are finally back." 

"Come on. That stain isn't coming out, no matter how hard you try." 

Kevin pouts, but they hang up the rest of their clothes before making their way to the village. The boys and some of the villagers surround Church and Thomas, who stand in the middle of their circle with glee. 

"McKinley!" Thomas exclaims when he spots him, and he can't contain himself as he rushes forward, the widest grin on his lips that Connor has ever seen. The other boys follow, eager to hear whatever story he's told again. 

"You're in a good mood," he says brightly, "Was Kampala that good?" 

He thrusts a stack of paper into McKinley's hands, "Kampala was _wonderful_ ," Thomas laughs, "Look at _this_ ,"

Connor takes the papers, frowning as he tries to take in the information. He can feel Kevin reading over his shoulder, and he holds them out to give him more room to see. There's headlines, it looks like a blog post, and as Connor starts reading, he looks up at Thomas in surprise. 

"This is...our story," he said softly, tilting his head as he reads further, "Who wrote this?" 

"James and I did," he says excitedly, "We changed everyone's names of course, since we didn't get permission, but the hotel had free Wifi and a computer station and so we- we took turns writing and...and look!" 

He shuffles with the papers, finding one from the back. It looks similar to a 'GoFundMe' page, and as Connor reads further, his eyes widens as he realises just what it is. 

"Someone set it up after reading our blog posts," Thomas exclaims when Connor doesn't react fast enough, "They're like- some sort of Amnesty group and contacted us and wanted to know more about the work we were doing, and we told them everything, and they set up this page and the donations just started _flooding_ in. And I mean _flooding_. We're up to almost five thousand dollars and it's only been three days." 

Connor's brain is swimming. He actually feels a little dizzy as he stares down at the information, swallowing thickly. He realises he's zoned out for just a moment, tuning back in but Thomas is still just talking about the money. 

"-and they take a little for the commission but it's all perfectly reasonable - they really seem to be genuinely interested and helping and we talked to some of the lawyers in Kampala and it's all legal and they're willing to support us and whatever we need from them." 

"This is...amazing..." Connor finally splutters, and a huge weight lifts from his shoulders as he realises that money is no longer an issue for them; as long as the donations continue, of course. 

He looks back to Kevin, who also looks dumbfounded. Church comes up behind Thomas, grinning at Connor almost shyly.

"Did we do good, boss?" 

Connor laughs, nodding, "More than good. You've pretty much saved everything. I didn't know how we were going to make it through the next month."

Church and Thomas grin at each other proudly. In the back of his mind, Connor wonders if anything happened over the course of the week between them. It was a lot of time to themselves. He wonders if he's just a little bit jealous, but he pushes it down, showering them with another layer of praise. They've honestly solved most of McKinley's problems in one fell swoop, and while he'll need a full briefing to get up to speed on it all later, he's happy to just bask in the resolution of his problems. 

"Oh, oh, and the most important thing the lady said was that we should take photos and videos, so..." Thomas says, pulling a video camera from his satchel, "We got a few just in case, and lots of solar-powered battery chargers, so whenever we go out and do stuff with the Ugandan's, or help in any way, we should take stories and have someone write something. Then James and I will take it into town and type it up and post it." 

Connor nods eagerly. He remembers in the beginning, they all took photos, but as the months wore on, nothing was new and exciting. It didn't seem worth it. But to be able to tell their stories and tell the world how they were helping filled Connor with- well, with the same energy that he went on his mission with to begin with. When he glances over at Kevin, he thinks he sees the same thing. His eyes are bright with it; a sense of purpose. 

"So...say cheese!" 

Church catches them off guard when he takes the camera from Thomas and snaps a picture of him and Kevin, standing side-by-side looking bewildered. 

"I mean, it's cute, but..." he turns the viewscreen around and shows them the image, to which Connor rolls his eyes, "Do you want to try again?" 

"We're going to have to have rules about consensual photography," Connor mutters, glancing at Kevin. 

"I want a proper photo," Church says firmly, not letting them get out of it, "Lean in." 

Church's face is set firm, staring them down, and Connor whines quietly.

"It'll be okay. Just one," Kevin chuckles softly, and Connor stiffens when he feels Kevin's arm around his waist, pulling him close and leaning in so their shoulders are pressed together, his head tilted to catch his best angle. He's warm and despite the hot sun he smells sweet like cinnamon, and Connor might _actually_ die if he has to be this close to him ever again. Or now. Now seems like a good time to die as well. 

Connor can just tell he looks like a deer in the headlights as he tries to smile naturally for the camera. He can see Thomas smirking at them, and Church looks just as smug, _those bastards_ , as he hits the capture button a few times. By the last photo, Connor's managed a deep breath, and to sling his arm around Kevin's shoulder as well. _Casual._

"Beautiful," Church says, and he fiddles with the camera a moment. Connor hopes he's checking the photos to make sure he doesn't look like an absolute freak in them, but when he turns the camera around to show them, it's actually a good photo. They're both smiling, relaxed and happy and Connor finds himself staring. 

"It's a good one. Will it go in the blog?" Kevin asks. 

"Yeah, probably. We've been getting good ideas from the people running the donations. Things like character profiles for each of us, and the villagers too. Our likes and dislikes. And people can still stay anonymous. There's nothing wrong with fake profiles, but the pictures will obviously show who's here, so it wouldn't be hard if our parents stumbled across them." 

"We'll have to have serious conversations with everyone, and make sure they know exactly what that means. I guess we can do some blurring if we need to." 

"Oh, and we have everyone's letters too!" Thomas fishes in his satchel once more, finding a stack of envelopes and rifling through them. He passes three to Kevin, who rolls his eyes because he knows they're from his siblings who don't understand how to save on postage. 

Connor braces, because he knows that his parents won't have written. The night they decided to stay in Uganda, they had used the phone to call their families. Most of the boys ended their conversations in tears, regardless of the outcome. 

For those from less devout homes, the response was almost positive. Stunned, confused, but happy that they were fighting for a good cause. 

For others, it was a little more devastating. Michaels had been hung up on. Neeley had endured a shouting match with his mother until _Neeley_ had hung up on her. Connor had overheard Kevin talking to each of his siblings before talking to his parents; a quiet, stilted conversation riddled with apologies but Kevin had come out with his head held high. 

Connor's own conversation had been brief. Once he'd explained himself, there had only been silence. His father had uttered a quiet, rhetorical, "Where did we go wrong?" with a long sigh, and Connor had sat quietly, straining to hear anything else. It wasn't the first time he'd heard it, but it still hurt, especially when they were doing the people of Kitguli so good. He had tried to explain - wasn't that what it was all about anyway? 

It wasn't, clearly. His father didn't yell, didn't beg or plead him to change, to come back home like he had heard for the other boys in the District. Connor didn't know what else to say - this was his life now, and it was his parents' call to make as to whether they wanted to be in it or not. 

"If you change your mind, you know where to find us." 

Those were the only other words his father uttered before hanging up, and even though there was nothing to them; no bitterness, no resentment, it still rings on repeat in Connor's ears. It was the finality of it that stung most, and the resignation of the fact. An if, not when. Almost like his father had expected it, and had never believed that he could come home an accomplished missionary after all. 

As expected, Thomas turns around to deliver the other letters without giving one to Connor. He's not the only one without a letter, but Kevin stuffs his own into the back of his pants with a pained smile. Connor brushes it off, because it's truly okay. He's _okay_. 

"Come on," Kevin says softly, "We're on dinner duty tonight, and I think we're out of fish." 

Connor wrinkles his nose. He'd been subtly rotating the jobs around, his excuse being that they should learn to work with not only their mission companions, but it also served as a good excuse for him to work with Kevin without seeming desperate about it. He didn't mind dinner duty at all, however being out of fish meant that they needed to go and get more. Fresh. 

Still, he appreciates the distraction, letting out a long sigh before nodding. 

"I'll...go see if Mafala can take us." 


	3. what baking can do

The sun is hot and the water is alarmingly warm and Connor doesn't really want to be in a place where he can't see his feet. His shorts are rolled up to his thighs and he feels like a bit of a moron. He's scared of alligators and leeches and fish with teeth but somehow Mafala and Kevin seem at ease, standing a little deeper than he is as they wrangle the nets. 

Of all the parts of living in Uganda, this one is probably his most hated. He can deal with the everlasting sunburn, skin always just that little bit raw. He can deal with leaky roofs, food that doesn't quite hit the spot, and the constant fear that follows him around, wondering if he might get hurt or infected by something out of his control. 

But he doesn't like the water. Especially this water. 

"Come McKinley," Mafala beckons him, "You'll never get anywhere if you do not face your fears." 

There's too much of a smirk on his face for Connor to think he's just talking about the pond. He shakes his head lightly, "No thank you. I'll take a year's worth of dishes to avoid ever having to do this again." 

"This part of the river is perfectly safe," Mafala assures him. 

Connor glares at him for a moment, defiant, before he lets out a whine and steps closer. Kevin's laughing at him, he knows. He can hear him, chuckling away in between verses of his newest song about the mud between his toes. 

He reaches for the net, already held by Mafala, Kevin, and two other villagers. 

"On three, we pull." 

They pull, and Connor grunts with exertion. It feels _heavy_ , and he prays to the non-existent Heavenly Father that he doesn't wind up on his ass in the mud. It would not be a good look, and not just because Kevin is here. 

The ground starts to shore up beneath his feet and with the extra leverage, he pulls a little harder. As the water recedes he starts to see the splashing and flipping of fins, fish desperate for oxygen. He tries not to think about it too hard. 

They pull until the entire net is on the land, catching their breath as they look over their haul. 

"Good job everyone. Looks like we got some Empuuta, the Nile Perch," Mafala points out the different types, "Very common. Different species of tilapia as well, and catfish, as you know. Semutundu."

Connor wants to learn and remember, but he also wants to never do this again. Michaels and Neeley actually seemed to like the fishing, their eyes gleaming when Kali had mentioned noodling. Perhaps it was better to play to their strengths?

As for the gutting and cleaning, Connor wants nothing to do with it, and he's thankful that even Kevin seems squeamish. Still, Kevin at least kneels beside Mafala and has a go at slicing down the belly, removing the insides and other things that Connor refuses to even watch. He stares at the water and tries not to listen to the vaguely wet sounds behind him, noticing just how much the water has gone down over the last couple of days. He can't even remember the last time it rained. 

"It is not for everyone," Femi claps Connor on the back, "But your friend seems to be doing well." 

Connor turns and sees Kevin with his entire hand in the belly of one of the catfish. He looks slightly green and definitely horrified, but if Connor watches anymore than he's going to lose his lunch. 

"I'm very happy for him," Connor winces, and speaks without turning to face him again, "Hey, Kevin. You look like you're having fun, so I'm going to go prepare the kitchen for dinner, okay?"

He hears Kevin's protest but he doesn't stop to listen as he shoves wet feet into his sneakers (It took a long time but he's finally used to _that_ awful feeling). Kevin will be okay, he knows, and Mafala will look after him. He just needs to leave. Immediately. 

By the time he nears the village again, his stomach has settled. He spots Church and Thomas taking photos as they entertain the children of the village, playing hopscotch and snails in the dirt. He can hear their laughter long before he gets close, and he stops to watch them for a moment. 

"McKinley! You look- uh, wet." Thomas notes. 

Connor glances down at himself and wrinkles his nose. His legs are covered in a fine coat of grainy sand, and he definitely needs to wash himself down before he even thinks about entering the hut. 

"Fishing," he explains with a wave of his hand in the general direction of the river. 

"And yet you have no fish. And no companion. Did you drown him?" Church asks curiously. 

Connor laughs, shaking his head, "No, no. Mafala is teaching him to- uh, prepare the fish." 

Their faces twist into identical grimaces, but Church gets distracted by one of the children, helping her count out the spaces she needs to jump. Connor watches the look of fondness that settles on Thomas' face, and his own insides curl up tight with affection for their relationship. He wishes he knew where it came from, how it started. Perhaps the trauma from their home lives helped them bond and drew them closer together. 

He watches for a little longer before making the trek to the outside wash area, using the gravity fed hose to wash off his legs. It's a nice day, albeit a little hot. Connor can feel the sweat on his neck, beading on his upper lip and dripping down his forehead. Sweaty seems to be a constant state of being here, with long hot days and nights that are just a little too cold to be properly comfortable. He'd heard that it was like this for most of the year, being so close to the equator, but it took the changing of the seasons for Connor to truly understand it. 

"Thanks for leaving me with the fish." 

Connor startles when Kevin comes up behind him, reeking of fish. He wrinkles his nose, "Gross." 

"You think I smell gross? You didn't see what I had to do." 

"I don't think I even want to know. I don't think I'd be able to eat it if I did."

Kevin laughs, putting down the little basket of prepared fish and washing his hands under the hose that Connor holds out for him, "It wasn't that bad, I guess. But it's a new experience, and that's what I'm kind of aiming for on this trip. Heavenly Father knows I've already started them." 

Connor smiles, because it's strange to hear from Kevin's mouth. He supposes that their vocabulary will take a while to change as well. 

"What do you think?" Kevin says, holding his hands out, a little closer to Connor's face than he's comfortable with. 

It takes Connor a _long_ moment to realise that Kevin wants him to smell them, and he laughs, shaking his head, "Are you- did you just- you've seen _Fifty First Dates_ , right?" 

Kevin's eyes light up and he grins so wide that Connor's ready to watch it walk right off his face, "My fingers are available for your sniffing pleasure anytime you need them." 

Connor wrinkles his nose, because it's the worst pick up line in the world and even Adam Sandler couldn't pull it off, and yet he feels his face heating up anyway. Are they flirting? They're not, Connor reminds himself sharply, but it doesn't stop him from giggling softly. He takes Kevin's hands with both of his (they're warm and soft, slightly wrinkled from the water, and Connor tries desperately hard not to think too hard about what they're doing), bringing them closer and inhaling. It's actually awful, and he chokes out a groan that turns into a hum of interest. 

"Mm, fishy," he laughs, and they dissolve into giggles again. 

Kevin washes his hands one more time but Connor doesn't think it will be enough to get the smell out, before dousing his legs and arms in water to get the sand off. They'll need proper showers later, but that can wait until they've finished cooking. 

"I have something I want to try, after we finish cooking the fish." 

Connor's heart leaps, and for a moment he's almost repulsed by just how desperate he is. He _needs_ to rein it in, to calm down and stop thinking that everything might be a lead in. Kevin is straight, and they're friends, and he's _happy_ with that. He loves his company, and one day maybe his heart will be satisfied with it too. 

"Oh?" 

"Baking." 

Connor nods slowly, but it's not with any sort of confidence, "Baking?" 

"I asked Church and Thomas to pick up some ingredients from Kampala, because the sweets the villagers have made us are good, but they're just not the same, right? And I want to make enough for everyone, as a thank you." 

It's a nice gesture, but Connor can only see one major flaw in the plan, "Um," he starts off gently, "We don't have an oven." 

Kevin stares, and his features shift only slightly, into the barest frown as he registers what Connor has said. "Wha-?" his head tilts, before he lets out a quiet, defeated breath and scoffs, "Oh my god...I can't believe I didn't think of that..." 

He looks so crestfallen that Connor's heart breaks and he shakes his head, "Hey, no- no, um, I think we can figure out how to cook it. We can use those cast iron pots, right? Over a fire? It should heat pretty evenly, and as long as we keep the temperature consistent, it'll work, right?" 

Kevin looks dubious, but Connor is determined now, "No, I'm pretty sure that'll work."

"Okay. I trust you." 

Connor gets an odd sort of satisfaction at that, and at least his smile is back, even if it's just slightly. 

In their ramshackle house, Connor gets out the ingredients they need to cook the fish. He's been taught enough about the different herbs and spices available to them that he's fairly confident they can produce a substantial meal, but it occurs to him that Kevin hasn't been on kitchen duty yet. 

"How much did you cook at home?" he asks curiously, taking out the knives and a cutting board, setting Kevin up with it before starting to season the fish. 

"Uh, not much, and not like this," Kevin explains, chopping up the vegetables Connor had gotten out. He's slow, and a little clumsy with the knife, but they're not in any rush, "I have three brothers, and a sister. So anything I made, I made a lot of it. Pasta, rice...mince - anything that could be made in bulk easily. What about you?" 

Connor nods as he sprinkles an earthy smelling spice onto the body of the fish, rubbing it into the flesh. It's food now, he rationalises, trying hard not to think about how they'd gotten it, and just how much of Kevin was inside it less than an hour ago.   
  
"An only child," Connor offers, mixing more spices and herbs into a bowl and using it as a bit of a paste, "With a mother who loved to cook, so she basically taught me everything she knew."   
  
If either of them notices that Connor speaks in past tense, they don't mention it. If they didn't want him, he didn't want them either. 

"Hey, Connor," Kevin asks after a couple of minutes, and Connor makes a soft sound in acknowledgement, "Did your mother also teach you how to get frisky with the fish? " 

Connor's mouth falls open, mortified as he glances down at where he's been massaging his spicy concoction into both sides of the body of the fish. It sends Kevin into a fit of laughter, tears streaming down his face (although that may be mostly from the onion he just finished chopping). 

"My gosh, Kevin Price. Who knew you had such a filthy mind," Connor laughs, too afraid to even touch the fish now that Kevin's mocked him for it. 

"I'm not being filthy," he protests, "I'm only telling you what I'm seeing! So...should I give you two some privacy?" 

"Oh, hush!" Connor snickers, reaching out and dragging his fingers down Kevin's cheek, leaving a mush of wet herbs behind. Kevin shrieks back at him, bringing his hand to wipe it away, missing some in the process. 

Connor ignores the residue, smug as he wipes his fingers on a nearly towel, "That's what you get." 

"There's more, isn't there?" Kevin asks, frantically wiping, but the mush is elusive and the individual herb flakes stick to his skin and it just makes Connor laugh harder. 

It's completely childish, and it's _fun_. Connor can't remember the last time he laughed like this, enjoying the company of someone else his age without feeling like he shouldn't be engaging in such frivolities. For some reason, Kevin brings it out of him, the side of him that isn't frantically doing a headcount, or trying to ensure that everyone is happy and having fun. 

Finally, after another couple of moments of hilarity, Connor takes pity on him. He's still got the giggles as he reaches for Kevin's face, "Stay still," he admonishes when Kevin tries to tilt his head, capturing his chin between his fingers and holding him there. 

He doesn't notice the way that Kevin stiffens, but it's not from his aversion to touch. Kevin stares; watching as Connor works at removing the herb flakes from his cheek with his short fingernails, his heart racing as he sees Connor, but...differently, somehow. It's new, but it's not unwanted, even if he doesn't quite know what it means. Connor's hands are soft, and while the whole kitchen smells like fish, there's something else there too - something that's just Connor. Rich and spicy, exciting and so intoxicatingly masculine that Kevin feels almost heady with the proximity. 

"There," Connor says triumphantly, pulling away and for the first time that week, forgetting that he was trying to be careful near Kevin. So distracted by the task, and by the pure joy between them, that he had forgotten to be worried that Kevin might not even want to be touched, "Clean." 

Kevin rolls his eyes, snapping back into the moment effortlessly, "I'm not even sure if a thank you is in order," he says cheekily, turning back to his chopping board. 

"Is that right?" Connor says with a snooty huff, smirking at him, "Next time I'll leave you to suffer then," he says, and without missing a beat he continues, "Come on, we'll wrap these and get a fire going, and I'll see if I can track down some cast iron pots." 

~~~

Two hours later, once the food has been cooked and eaten by the rest of the missionaries (much to their appreciation), Connor and Kevin find themselves back in the kitchen. 

Connor had found a pot and left it on the dining table, their ingredients and a large bowl spread out on the kitchen counter. 

"Okay," Kevin huffs, "How do we do this?"

Connor raises an eyebrow, "You've never baked?" 

"Not from scratch!" he defends, "I usually follow the ingredients from those little pre-mix boxes." 

Connor rolls his eyes fondly, "Pleb." 

"Have you ever tried cooking with three other rowdy kids?"

"I don't think I ever want to," Connor snickered softly, reaching for the flour, "Okay, so...we're just going to have to make it up as we go along, I guess, if you don't have a recipe?"

"No, I just...kinda guessed and asked Poptarts to supplement anything I'd forgotten." 

Connor winces, "I wish you had told me about your baking endeavours before sending them off for groceries..." 

Kevin shrugs, "A week ago was a bit of a different time, if you recall. I didn't know if you'd want to."

Connor would've wanted to, even a week ago, but he doesn't need to tell Kevin that. 

"Well, I'm glad we're doing it now," Connor grins, reaching for one of the glasses and holding it up to show Kevin. He put his finger up halfway, "This is about a cup, okay? Measure out a cup and a half of flour for me, and put it into that bowl." 

Kevin nods, following his instructions as Connor works on the wet ingredients, "So tell me more about the world of Connor McKinley." 

"There's not much to tell, if we're being honest. I'm pretty sure our lives are pretty similar. Born into high strung Mormon families, taught to be good Mormons, tried to be good Mormons, and...here we are..." 

Kevin shrugs, "Surely there's more to you than the Mormon side of things?" 

Connor pauses halfway to pouring in some oil, raising an eyebrow, "Is there more to you?" 

It takes Kevin a second to respond, but Connor can see the question has caught him off-guard, "Of course," he says with a laugh, "For example, what did you want to do once you finished your mission?" 

He can understand what Kevin means now. Yes, his entire nineteen years had been dictated by the church, but there was a little more to him than just the teachings. 

"For a long time, I...wanted to go to university," Connor starts gently, "I wanted to study the fine arts, maybe become a performer if I was good enough..." 

Kevin's face lights up at the news, but he falters, "That sounds like past tense." 

Connor shrugs, "I was raised in a traditional Mormon household. The nuclear family. Single income, where my mother raised me and my father did the work, earned the money. And over time, it became clear that the same thing was expected of me as well. I was groomed for a job that would pay well in a professional environment... You know, dentist, lawyer, banker..." 

"They wouldn't let you-" 

"It wasn't so much of what they allowed and what they didn't...it just...wasn't the way, and there was no room for negotiation or any other option. It was the same thing when I almost came out." 

"Almost?" 

"When my mother realised where the conversation was going, she very quickly changed the subject and signed me up for therapy," Connor tells him with a dry smile, "I found pamphlets on my bed with who to turn to if I was having confusing thoughts, and a week later I was getting therapy sessions."

Kevin looks horrified before Connor laughs and shakes his head, "No, no. Regular therapy. Just me and a couch and a woman who made me cry far more times than I was comfortable with." 

"That must've been hard..." 

Connor shakes his head slightly, "You'd think. But it was okay. I was only just coming into my feelings, and while I knew they were real - they kind of went into the same box as the thoughts about being a performer. Not negotiable - not my life." 

"Sounds worse when you say it like that." 

"I guess, once I had realised that it wasn't going to be my future, it was easy enough to just forget about, until it started to sometimes leak out in my personality." 

Kevin nods slowly, before he tilts his head, "But you're allowed to be whoever you want, now. Will I see you up on the stage in three years?" 

Connor barks out an amused laugh, before he actually thinks about it. Life after the mission hasn't really occurred to him yet. He frowns, shrugging a little, "Maybe..." he says, "Um, what about you? 

"Me?" Kevin asks, shrugging, "I always wanted to teach," he says quietly, "You know, once my father told me that being a theme park attendant wasn't a viable career choice." 

Connor laughs softly, "Well, if I can be a performer in the future, you can be a theme park attendant. Maybe we can _both_ get a job at Disney. You can wave the people in, and I'll be the poor guy sweating in the Goofy costume."

"A mascot? No way, you shouldn't hide that face of yours. Maybe a Disney Prince?" 

"A redheaded Prince?" Connor's definitely not going to think about what Kevin just called him. _Definitely not._ He pauses before he continues, "I haven't got the muscles for Hercules... So, I guess that leaves Hans?" 

Kevin wrinkles his nose, "No. Not that evil bastard. Maybe Prince Adam?"

"From Beauty and the Beast?" Connor tilts his head, and Kevin seems pleased he knows exactly who he's talking about, "He's a dark blonde, at best." 

"I didn't take you for a Disney fan," Kevin murmurs with a soft smile, stirring diligently as Connor instructs, the other man pouring in the wet ingredients in increments. It's getting dark outside and he can hear the other boys starting to amble on in. 

Connor shrugs, smiling brightly, "There's a lot of goodness in Disney," he says, noting Kevin's smile as he takes over the stirring. 

"It smells so good," Kevin murmurs wistfully, "I wish that salmonella wasn't an issue...I'd be so far gone into just eating that raw batter..." 

Connor giggles softly, shaking his head, "As good as it smells, I promise you that I'm not nearly skilled enough in medicine to help you if you _do_ get that sick." 

Kevin pouts, "Fine," he laments, leaning against the counter and watching instead. 

"Do you wanna check the fire and I'll prepare the pan? We need to use the hot coals- maybe eight? - to create a little- like, summoning circle to rest the pan on, and get enough coals that we can put them on top as well."

Kevin nods, obediently heading outside. Connor takes a moment to breathe, glad for the privacy because it's all been so _good_ and overwhelming. They've been standing so close to each other, bumping elbows as they reach for ingredients. He's enjoying himself so much that he often forgets to relish at each touch, but it's almost nicer not to. For once he feels like the pressure is off, and he can just be Kevin's friend. And maybe there's a part of him that's sad that he'll never get to kiss him, or hold his hand in any way that isn't platonic, but...it's okay. He's happy. 

Once the pan is oiled and the mixture has been poured in, Connor carries it carefully to the fire, where Kevin has created the circle of hot coals in the ash. 

"Watch your fingers," Connor calls, and Kevin scoots away as he lowers it onto the circle. 

Together they use the pliers and tongs to put the remaining coals on top, before falling back on their hands to wait. The silence stretches between them but it's comfortable, and he hears Kevin start to sing under his breath. It's an unintelligible song this time, but Connor's comforted by it, tilting his head back to look up at the stars. 

Around them, the villagers are settling for the afternoon. Some of them sit around other fires, talking quietly. Others have already turned in for the night, and Connor knows that most of the missionaries have gone inside. It's not worth dousing yourself in bug spray to survive sitting outside for too long past sundown. They won't sleep for a while yet, which means that he and Kevin can present the cake to them to make sure it's edible before giving it to the villagers tomorrow. 

"Where would you want to live after the mission, if you could choose anywhere in the world?" 

Connor's so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't even heard Kevin stop singing. 

He glances over at him, thinking for a moment, "New York City," he says finally, "I think that...getting to be yourself, whoever that person may be, must be the most freeing thing in the entire world." 

"It's a big city," Kevin comments softly, scooting closer so they can talk without yelling across the sound of the fire, "Aren't you afraid of getting lost?" 

"I think I'm more interested in the thought of blending in," he replies, "I won't be Connor McKinley the ex-Mormon from Jacksonville, Oregon. I'll just be that cute ginger on the subway. Nobody will know about any of my past, or my family." 

Kevin looks like he wants to say something and for a moment Connor wonders whether it's about the 'cute ginger' part of his spiel, but Connor watches as he second-guesses himself. 

"Now that you mention it, that does actually sound pretty good..." 

"Where were you thinking?" 

Kevin shrugs, "I don't know." 

"Orlando?" Connor asks with a smile, but Kevin just laughs. 

"No, I don't think so. I want to go back one day, but...not to live there, I don't think. That was a Mormon fantasy. I think I'm a little older and wiser now..." 

Connor won't comment on the fact that it was barely two weeks ago. He's just happy to see Kevin relaxed and happy, and thinking about the future. 

They lapse into another comfortable silence, and this close, Connor can't help but smile. It's just nice. Nice to be spending time together, doing something so domestic and easy. 

They talk again in bursts, mindless conversation to pass the time, and after what Connor feels should be twenty minutes, he sits up. With some manoeuvring he manages to get the lid off the pot to check the cake, spearing the middle with a fork. When it comes out clean he lets out a pleased laugh. 

"Alright, watch yourself," Connor says as he pulls the pan off the ash and into the dirt, "We should probably leave this for a bit, to let it settle without the heat. Then we can figure out how to get it out." 

~~

The task proves harder than first imagined, and they spend a long time waiting for it to cool enough so that Kevin can upend the pot, Connor catching the cake as it falls. They transfer it to a larger container, and finally - _finally_ \- they're ready to cut it. 

The absolute bliss on the missionaries' faces is more than worth it as they all bite into their slices. Granted, it's a little overdone and crunchy on the bottom, and just that little bit too moist in the middle, but still; it reminds them of home, even just for a moment, and Connor has never been prouder. 

"That was an amazing idea..." Connor murmurs around a mouthful of cake, leaning on the kitchen counter as the rest of the boys inhabit the living space. 

"Thank you," Kevin hums, polishing off his own slice, "But I couldn't have done it without you. I just had the idea - you implemented it." 

Connor wrinkles his nose, but he refuses to debate the issue, "We make a good team." 

"We do," Kevin grins at him widely, before stretching, "I think I'm going to call it a day though. The fishing was- a lot." 

Connor nods. It's late anyway, since they took so long trying to get the cake out, and he can see a couple of the boys retreating to their rooms as well. He watches as Kevin heads to his room, Arnold joining him a few moments later. 

Finally it's just himself and Thomas, and he collapses on the couch next to him. 

"Hey," Thomas murmurs happily, "That cake was amazing, but you look beat. Did you have a good day?" 

"Yeah," Connor nods, running his fingers through his displaced hair, convincing it that it wants to hold form in a coiff for just a little longer, "Long, though. I feel like I could sleep for a week." 

Thomas smiles, then reaches beside him for his camera. 

"I...got some good pictures today. Want to see?" 

To be honest, Connor had forgotten about the picture taking. He laughs and nods, "Yeah, definitely." 

He can't place Thomas' smile, almost coy, but it's not long before he starts to understand. 

It's just pictures of him and Kevin, all day. 

They stand close together, hauling the net. Grimaces and fear as they stand knee-deep in the water. Connor shakes his head, because he doesn't even remember Thomas being there - he had found Thomas and Church with the children? How had he gotten up there so quickly?

He stops thinking about it when it seems that Thomas had followed them to the outdoor shower too, with photos of them laughing and smiling, Kevin holding his hands for Connor to smell as they washed themselves down. A few while they cooked and baked, showing a clear progression of how they got closer and closer, their smiles soft and affectionate. 

Connor looks up at Thomas in surprise, unable to even express how mortified he is, but also...grateful? The pictures are embarrassing, every single one of them completely candid (and honestly some of them look like stalker shots), but it's a nice memento of the occasion, and how they spent their days in Uganda. Not to mention how nice it is to see Kevin in those shots. 

"I..." 

"Sorry for the invasion of privacy," Thomas starts, giving him a weak smile and echoing his thoughts, "But...I figured that these are the days you're going to want to remember."

There's hidden meaning there, and Connor's eyebrows fall into a concerned frown as he watches Thomas for a few more moments. Does he know? Based on the photos, Connor is sure he knows. He feels a well of fear gathering in the bottom of his stomach and he swallows thickly, ready to divebomb into a panic until Thomas reaches out to place a hand on his arm. 

"It's okay," Thomas assures him quietly, mindful of the thin walls, "I know, and I know you're kind of scared about it. That's why I wanted to take those pictures. So you could know too." 

Connor trusts him and respects him enough to not refute his claims. Connor's seen what he's gone through with Church, and it's nice to have an ally. He just deflates completely, running his hands through his hair, "Oh Chris..." he whispers, "I don't know what I'm doing."

Thomas rubs a gentle hand on his back, "It's okay." 

"He's _straight_ , Thomas." 

"You know, I don't think so." 

"Not helpful," Connor grumbles, "He's told me he's straight. That's a pretty solid indication if you ask me." 

"Well...it sucks if that's that case," Thomas says slowly, "But I think he likes you, Connor." 

"Don't," Connor grumbles, but he's not upset with him, "Don't get my hopes up. Please. I'm happy just being his friend right now. And he deserves a friend." 

Thomas nods but he looks dubious. Connor refuses to let himself wonder if he might be right. 

"Well, I'm here for you to commiserate with if he ends up straight. But I'm totally excited for you if he's not." 

Connor heaves a long sigh, rolling his eyes as he grins up at Thomas, "Thanks. I think."

"I'm gonna go say goodnight to James and then head to bed myself."

Connor nods, watching him get up before he asks about Church's mission companion, "Does Davis know?" 

Thomas turns around, feigning ignorance, "Know what?" he asks, winking and turning back around. 

Connor takes another moment to himself, leaning his head back against the couch with a groan. Thomas knowing all of his secrets without him even saying anything is a little overwhelming, but there's something nice about being able to share his pain for once. 

Finally he gets to his feet, starting down the hallway past each room to get to his at the end. He doesn't do rounds anymore, poking his head in each night to check that there were two in every room, and that nobody had missed curfew. He doesn't care anymore. If he's honest, if Thomas wanted to swap with Davis and bunk with Church instead, he'd have no problem with it at all. 

He stops short when he nears Arnold and Kevin's room, hearing a soft murmuring coming from behind the door. He tries not to pay attention to it, but... 

He hears his name. 

He hears his name from Kevin's soft murmurs, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to keep walking. To block Kevin's voice from his head and not eavesdrop, knowing how mortified he'd be if Kevin had heard his conversation with Thomas. 

He could've just been recounting the day. Telling Arnold of the fishing and the cooking and baking. Of the laughter they'd shared. Or... 

Connor curses as dangerous hope flickers in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all the love forever and for always to my sister who turned Thomas from just a creepy stalker to a loving roommate.


	4. storytellers

"So, what does Nabalungi mean?"

It's hot.  _ Everyone _ is hot, and with the heat comes zero motivation to do anything. Instead of productivity, and building and helping, the missionaries find themselves sprawled in the grass one afternoon. The dam beside them is still receding at an alarming rate, and Connor lays on his back and stares up at the cloudless sky. It has to rain soon, he assumes. It can't go on like this much longer, surely. 

"It means 'beautiful one'," Nabalungi answers, braiding two dry blades of grass together. They crumble to dust in her fingers and she huffs, resting her chin in her hands.

From where he's lying on his back next to her, they hear Arnold burst into laughter, "Wow," he says, sitting up and leaning back on his hands, "Wow, Mafala really got it right when he named you, didn't he? I can't believe you were this beautiful as a baby too."

Nabalungi's nose wrinkles as she smiles at him, finding him so incredibly endearing that she can't seem to help it. Connor doesn't mean to be surprised about their relationship, but anyone who can withstand Arnold's over-eager social awkwardness deserves a medal, Kevin included. He's not a bad guy by any means, but Connor finds him only tolerable in small doses. It's kind of unfortunate, given that Kevin and Arnold are a package deal.

Not that Connor's thinking of their future together  _ romantically _ . Even platonically, he wants to stay in Kevin's life. They've already been through so much together, it seems silly to call it off just because their mission has ended.

"I was actually named by my mother," Nabalungi continues, and Connor can feel the way the attitude shifts just slightly amongst the boys, from boredom to genuine interest.

Despite being here for almost four months now (and barely a month for Arnold and Kevin), they know very little about Kitguli's past, especially Nabalungi's.

"What was she like?" Davis asks her softly, his head cocked lightly.

She starts to talk, describing her mother in so much detail that Connor can almost see the woman in front of them. Beautiful, wise, courageous and strong, with such integrity and fierce protectiveness for her village and the people in it. Her love for Mafala and her daughter is easy to see, and Nabalungi had grown up with her as a role model, to look up to and love. At times, Connor can hear Nabalungi's voice break, thick with emotion, and the boys reach out to her with comforting smiles, encouraging her to continue.

Connor feels his own heart tug with her stories and for a long moment he's indescribably homesick, yearning for another hug, or to come home and have his mother listen attentively to everything that happened during his day. For his father to smile and tell him that he's doing good. It hurts to know it will never happen again.

When Nabalungi finishes her story, it prompts Arnold to speak of his own parents and the way he lived at home. His parents aren't as strict as the family Connor came from, and his upbringing is certainly different to the ones Connor usually hears about. The boys all go around, sharing stories from their youth, mostly about their interactions with their parents. Most of them are fond memories and recounts of family holidays, or anecdotes of failed proselytizing. Church and Thomas are quiet though, not wanting to bring down the mood, Connor assumes. 

He hasn't heard from Kevin yet either, but when he glances over, Kevin doesn't seem set on speaking. He's laying on his stomach on the sand, his legs floating in the water with his head resting on his arms. They make eye contact for a brief moment, and Kevin smiles at him. His eyebrows rise ever so slightly, a question (or maybe a prompt) for Connor to talk, but he very slightly shakes his head. He doesn't feel like sharing, and he doesn't have stories that he's very fond of anymore.

Nabalungi listens to each story intently, asking questions when she doesn't understand a term or phrase, soaking in all the information she can. Once the stories of their families are over, she tells stories from the village instead. Connor's favourite is about a group of Christian missionaries who had arrived in the village, spent one night and left the next day before even trying to teach them about their faith. He remembers his own first night, how scary everything had been, and how he had surprised himself with his own resolve to stick it out.

She's an incredible story teller, and Connor is captivated by each tale, so much so that he can't help but speak up once she's finished, "Nabalungi, that story would make an amazing play."

Several of the boys turn to look at him in confusion, but Nabalungi's eyes light up, "A play?" she asks excitedly, "Like the one we performed for your Mission President?"

"Exactly!" Connor exclaims, "I'm sure you could write another one, and get everyone involved?"

She's nodding, her mind already whirring with the possibilities, her eyes bright and excited, "Oh McKinley, that is a genius idea!"

"Oh," Neeley sits up, "We could repair that old town hall, and maybe turn it into a performance space? No offense to the first performance space you guys made, it was great, but maybe if you keep writing shows, they can be performed somewhere a little more permanent?"

"And then you can have somewhere to rehearse too!" Schrader continues, nodding excitedly.

"And seating for your audience!" Michaels calls.

"Maybe we could even film the performances on the cameras, and post them to the blog?" Church speaks up.

Nabalungi looks around, nodding wildly, "These are all such  _ good _ ideas. And everything we perform will be written in text, so you can share it with your people!"

They're chattering excitedly and Connor can't help but grin at the sense of purpose in the air, another goal for them to work towards together. While their construction skills are mostly abysmal when trying to create anything from scratch, their ability to repair existing structures was actually quite sound.

"I am going to start writing right away!" she exclaims, getting to her feet, "Arnold, will you help me?"

The smile on his face matches hers in intensity and they go, hand in hand, back to the main village. 

He tunes back in to the others starting to make plans on how they're going to start the repairs, which materials they need and what they need to create. Connor can imagine the town hall was beautiful once, but it's dilapidated now, with a half caved-in roof. It needs a good clean, new slats in most places, and the shutters need replacing.

"There's already an elevated bit in there for a stage, right? It's big enough we could probably section off a backstage, for props and scenery. And dressing rooms," Connor offers helpfully. Thomas sits with a notepad, nodding and busily sketching it out as he speaks.

All of them get involved, offering their limited experience and opinions. There's not too much to discuss, and as the sun starts to set and dip below the trees, they have a plan.

~~~

The next afternoon, Connor stands surveying the chaos that is nine unskilled missionaries milling around. Four of them, along with three of the villagers are on tree duty, coming and going with logs that are mostly cut to the same length to replace the roof supports.

Some of the other boys have started cleaning the inside, carefully clearing away the leaf litter (and being  _ incredibly  _ wary of potential snakes and spiders). He can see Church and Thomas bent over the plans, still working out the spacing of the stage. Every so often they'll pop up and take a photo (they seem to be the only ones who remember to do it), but otherwise they're quiet.

Bereft of an actual job, Connor takes it upon himself to start sorting the logs, putting them together by width as well as length, and trying to figure out how they can best be used.

"You know, this is probably going to take a while," Zelder comments as he passes Connor, a stack of smaller logs in his arms.

"Didn't they used to do barn raisings in a day? This is just repairs...how hard could it be?" Schrader asks, unceremoniously dumping his stack onto the floor and stretching.

"The people raising the barns were all farmers and labourmen who knew how to use their hands," Connor says, nodding slowly, "Zelder is right. It's going to take a while. But I don't think Nabalungi will mind. I don't think they've finished the play. Arnold left after breakfast this morning and I didn't even see him for lunch."

The boys all roll their eyes, and he hears Neeley make a bad joke about what they could be doing besides writing a play. Connor ignores it, the tips of his ears going red as he goes back to sorting.

It doesn't take long for them to actually see progress in their work. The roof is almost completely repaired by the end of the day, and the first quarter of the room is almost inhabitable. After all their hard work though, the boys are  _ exhausted. _

Connor wonders if he has more splinters than skin, every clench of his fists erupting in tiny pinpricks of pain. The other boys aren't doing much better, and he wonders idly if they should invest in gloves if this sort of building is going to be the norm.

There's been other injuries too; Connor's dressed several deeper cuts from large wood shards, and treated squashed fingers and bent back fingernails. There's not much they can do out here, and he warns them all to be careful, and to come see him if things get worse. His first aid kit is always restocked whenever anyone goes to Kampala, but dealing with an infection out here seems daunting. Gotswana is there, of course, and he's a talented doctor, but Connor just  _ worries. _

Over the next few days, their mornings are dedicated to their usual work around the village - teaching, telling stories, planting and fishing. In the afternoons, they all work hard on the building. The plans change a few times, and they get over ambitious with wanting to construct walls and attachments so they can include dressing rooms. Eventually they come to their senses, and section off parts of the backstage instead with railings they build into the ceiling.

Connor finds himself working with Kevin a lot of the time. They're put on window duty - creating the frames and wooden shutters to replace the weather worn ones that are already there. Mostly Connor spends his time just listening to Kevin sing. He's got a sweet voice, and while his songs have bad rhymes, it puts Connor at ease as they work together.

"You know, you should join the play that Nabalungi and Arnold are writing," Connor comments, doing his best to hammer a nail through a knot in the wood.

Kevin gently redirects him to hammer a few inches down instead, . Connor still gets a little thrill whenever they touch, but at least knowing that it didn't mean anything doesn't hurt as much anymore. They're good friends, and Connor has learnt more and more about him every day. Things that make Connor like him even more, but he thinks he's finally starting to just appreciate him as a person, and not as a love interest. Thomas still sends him knowing looks from time to time, but he's learned to just smile and roll his eyes. 

"Nah," Kevin laughs, "It sounds fun, but honestly I just like watching, and only singing to myself. What about _ you _ , Mr. Stage Performer?"

Connor chuckles, shaking his head, "No," he says, "The genre isn't quite what I had in mind."

"Me either. But all the power to them, I guess."

"You know, I'd like to hear you sing properly one day. Not just under your breath."

"I'm afraid you're going to be very disappointed then," Kevin tells him with a cheeky grin, "You're lucky I let you hear me sing at all."

"I guess I'll take what I can get for now. But remind me to set up mandatory karaoke nights."

"Do that, and I'm flinging myself headfirst into the river. Alligator's be damned."

Connor just laughs. He can be so dramatic, but Connor thinks it's part of his charm.

The rest of their afternoons are filled with the same banter and laughter. As the days pass and more progress is made, they start to see the villagers rehearsing, with Nabalungi and Arnold directing them. The play is silly, like the first one, and the bits and pieces that Connor has seen has left him blushing but also in hysterical laughter.

Connor doesn't remember how long it takes, with days passing in dizzying blurs of routine and schedules. It reminds Connor of their first three months here, when everything made sense. Now things have started to make sense again, but in a much better way. They're building something they can be proud of - something they can look back on with the certainty that they'd accomplished something together.

When the final spider is coaxed back into the wilderness, the roof is waterproof, and the place is entirely clean, they step back to survey their handiwork.

"We did it."

Connor nods slowly, unable to stop the grin on his lips, "We did it."

The phrase is murmured by some of the other missionaries as well, a soft mantra spreading through them until it erupts into a cheer. The villagers who ended up helping them join in, and Connor finds himself hugging everyone in reach, laughing delightedly.

"Okay everyone, group picture!" Church calls after already taking pictures inside and out of the finished product.

He sets the camera up on a makeshift tri-pod, setting a timer and once they're all in position, he hits the capture button and dashes forward. Call it fate, call it luck, but Connor finds himself next to Kevin and his grin gets wider when he feels Kevin's arm around his waist, pulling him closer. He wraps his arm around Kevin's shoulders, no longer afraid of touching him in case he gets the wrong idea. Connor's proud of himself for being past that now.

"I have to say, I'm impressed," Mafala tells them with a proud grin, looking up at the building, "The last time this place was clean, Nabalungi was only a little girl."

"I'm glad we got to restore it's memory," Connor tells him, and the older man claps him on the back. 

"Do you think we can put on our play tonight?" Nabalungi asks excitedly, "In celebration of the completion?"

"I'd love that," Zelder pipes up, "It'll be good to see it in action!"

"Maybe we can have a bit of a group meal?" Michaels suggests.

"And...perhaps you boys would partake in a drink with us, to toast the new performance space?" Kimbay suggests, tilting her head with a smile. 

It sends a ripple of energy through the boys, both excited and nervous by the prospect. As Latter-Day Saints, not even a drop of anything stronger than juice had passed between their lips.

"When you say drink, you mean alcohol, right?" Connor clarifies.

"Waragi," Mafala nods, "Sort of like gin."

The comparison would have helped if Connor knew what gin was like. 

"I'm game," Neeley immediately steps up, nodding, "Sounds like a great way to celebrate."

"Me too," Michaels nods, and Schrader pipes up as well.

"Hold on, hold on," Connor holds his arms out for a moment, wincing, "I don't mean to sound like a stick in the mud, but... none of us have ever had alcohol before. And I know that people can tend to get a bit- uh, wild? We don't know how to- pace ourselves, or anything like that."

"Ah," Mafala nods with a knowing smile, "You need chaperones, then."

"Chaperones?"

"We will make sure your first experience does not end in disaster," Kimbay chuckles from beside Mafala, "You are in safe hands." 

Funnily enough, Connor does get comfort from that, and he nods a little. Perhaps it's the notion that  _ he _ doesn't have to be the one looking after nine other drunk missionaries that relaxes him. There are controls they can put in place; staying within the town hall and limiting the number of drinks they have.

"Okay," he says softly, although nobody was really waiting for his permission. Most of them had already gone back to admiring the building.

"I will get everyone prepared!" Nabalungi exclaims, Arnold tailing her as they head to the village schoolhouses where their costumes are kept.

"I'll help with the food," Neeley says, and Schrader and Zelder follow him.

Michaels and Davis wander off, leaving Church, Thomas, Kevin and Connor behind, which seems to be the usual way of things these days.

"Are you guys going to drink?" Kevin asks, taking a seat on the stage.

"No, absolutely not," Church says, flopping down. He watches Thomas shift ever so slightly closer, a small comfort, "I've seen what alcohol does and...I just don't want to."

"Are you going to be okay?" Connor asks kindly, "You don't have to be around if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, no. I think I'll be fine. It's not really about being around drunk people. It's more just  _ me _ having it." Church smiles, before nudging Thomas, "Besides, I want to see this one get a little wild."

Thomas lets out a nervous laugh, "I don't know about that. We'll see. What about you guys?"

"Maybe one?" Connor shrugs, "I don't get the appeal, if I'm honest...but I still want to try it."

"Can you imagine what our parents would say if they knew?" Thomas giggles lightly, and the four of them erupt into nervous laughter. 

"You didn't get sent all the way to Uganda to become piss-heads," Church mimics what Connor imagines is his mother, and it sends them all into another round of laughter.

When they've sobered up, Connor bites his lip before he glances around at them, "Do you think I should be a control freak and tell them how many drinks to have?"

"I think by starting that sentence with "should I be a control freak" is a clear indicator of what you should do," Church points out.

"Do you even know how much gin is safe?" Thomas continues.

Connor falters which makes Kevin laugh, and Connor rolls his eyes at them, "Shut up, okay? I just..."

"Mafala said he'll look after everyone," Kevin assures him, "And so did Kimbay, and I trust her."

Connor trusts Kevin so he just smiles, and Thomas nudges him and he smacks him on the knee back because again,  _ shut up. _

~~

After dinner, they're seated and there's a thrum of excitement in the air as they all gather in the town hall for the first performance.

Connor's nervous and he's not even performing.

Kevin is next to him, at ease as always which Connor thinks is a little unfair. With the limited room in the hall, they have to sit close, their legs pressed together. Connor can feel how warm he is through the thin fabric of their pants, and he has to distract himself by looking up at the curtain. It's ripped, old and faded, but it was the only fabric they could find that was long enough. The seats have no backs, and Connor secretly hopes the play isn't too long because his back already aches just a little with nothing to lean against. 

The play is...exactly what Connor expects.

Loud, crude, and full of so many pop culture references that Connor loses track of the plot more than once. But the Ugandan's have so much fun, pausing when the audience stops to laugh so they can fit in another well timed joke. With Nabalungi and Arnold working together, it's a strong mix of seriousness and satire and Connor  _ actually _ enjoys it; a story from Nabalungi's childhood that her mother always told.

The missionaries give them a standing ovation when they're finished; loud whoops and whistles from every single one of them as they bow.

Connor's cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling, and they flood the stage to hug and congratulate the performers. Connor praises their amazing work and congratulates them just a little too much, practically gushing. Connor can't help it - he's excited by it, and excited by the prospect that this could be him too one day.

"And now, a toast to the show!"

Within moments, a short clay cup is pressed into Connor's hands, filled halfway with a clear liquid. Somehow Mafala and Kimbay have armed everyone in the hall with a drink and it makes Connor's heart race nervously. He checks around - Church has refused one, and he notices a lot of the villagers don't actually have one either. Nabalungi has opted out too, and he wonders if she's tried it before.

"To excellent performances," 

"To Nabalungi and Arnold!"

"To Ex-Mormons!"

"To repaired buildings."

"To laughter!"

Soon everyone is shouting out things to toast to and Connor laughs, caught up in the moment, before throwing his head back and gulping the Waragi straight down.

He immediately regrets it.

The alcohol burns all the way down his tongue, throat and into his stomach, and it's all he can do to not just vomit it all back up. He coughs and almost retches, and Mafala looks like he's about to give himself a hernia with how hard he's laughing.

The older man wraps an arm around his shoulders and drags him off to the side, away from the still cheering crowd. There's another cup in his hand and Connor shakes his head, eyes blurry. He's still trying to settle the immediate rejection his body is going through, but Mafala laughs.

"It's just water," he explains, and Connor reaches for it, taking a small sip. It does little to counteract the burning, but surely it has to help somehow, "Not a good start to the night, I think. I didn't expect you to down it so quickly."

"I didn't mean to," Connor tries to explain, as the sound of drums start in the background, the villagers continuing the entertainment, "Just- forgot."

"Are you okay, Connor?" Kevin approaches hesitantly, "What happened, you look a bit pale."

Connor wrinkles his nose, "Just- was a bit over-enthusiastic...with my first sip."

Kevin winces, "You had it all at once?" he exclaims, "That's- that's impressive."

"More like stupid," Mafala says with a laugh, and Connor makes a face at him, "If it's too strong for you boys, it can be watered down."

Connor wrinkles his nose, because he doubts the water would make the Waragi any better; it always tastes a little brown, whether it comes from the filter or from the rain water tanks. He shakes his head resolutely, "No, it's fine..."

"Is it supposed to burn like this?" Kevin asks Mafala curiously, giving it a sniff before he takes another sip.

"It's a toxin," Nabalungi interrupts as she dances up next to them, swaying to the beat, "Just like your missionaries come to our village to talk about the Bible, we get teachers that come and talk to us about health. Surely you should know this?" she explains, spinning in place, "It's bad for you, especially lots of it."

"I think you got taught more about alcohol than we did," Kevin says, glancing at Connor who just nods. He's still feeling slightly queasy, and the beat the Ugandan's are tapping out on their drums isn't helping.

"Everything in moderation," Mafala tells them, before he takes Nabalungi's hands and joins her in the dance, spinning her into the crowd.

Connor leans against the wall as he looks around, taking in the view of his friends enjoying their drinks. Most of the boys are dancing with the villagers, wide grins on their faces and their drinks in hand. Kimbay is making rounds, filling cups when they're empty. It's beautiful, watching them like this. They're all in such good spirits, and Connor can't stop the little smile on his face.

"Another?" Kimbay asks as she comes closer, tilting her head with a smile, "Small sips this time, McKinley."

Connor rolls his eyes with a light blush and lets her fill up his cup. She tops up Kevin's as well before sashaying past.

He follows her advice and the next couple of sips aren't so bad, and he starts to feel the scorching in his belly easing into something gentler, more warmth rather than burning.

"Oh," Connor murmurs, glancing at his cup suspiciously, "That's different..."

"What's different?" Kevin asks. He hasn't joined the crowd, staying by Connor's side. It's nice of him, but Connor honestly would prefer to watch him dance.

"It- um," Connor suppresses a smile, chewing his lip because it's kind of  _ funny _ , how he feels right now, "It's...good."

"Good?"

Connor nods, "Just- this feeling," he says, shaking his head with a laugh, "It's fine. It's nothing. How are  _ you _ feeling?"

"I'm fine. Not any different than normal, I guess?"

Connor tuts softly, "Maybe you should drink faster, then?"

"I'd rather not hurl my guts up, thanks," Kevin teases, and Connor waggles a finger at him.

"I didn't throw up!"

"Yeah, yet. You haven't thrown up _yet._ "

"Speaking of throwing up," Neeley says loudly, interrupting their conversation. He throws an arm around each of their shoulders, and Connor notices that Kevin slides out of his grasp and takes a step away. "First one to throw up tonight is on dishes duty for the rest of the week,"

"Alright," Kevin nods, folding his arms and chuckling, "You're on."

Connor agrees, "Is everyone in?"

"Church gets an automatic pass, but he's part of the winning team that means we get to stay in Uganda for longer, so I suppose that's fair," Neeley explains, and both Kevin and Connor nod.

"If you vomit and nobody sees it, does it still count?" Michaels calls from across the room.

"It's an honour system!" Neeley shouts back, "Nobody wants a residual hell dream, do they?"

Connor shudders a little, taking a long sip from his cup. His own dreams have finally started to subside, but they still make an appearance every now and then.

"Oh, we should play drinking games," Davis appears on Kevin's other side, too enthusiastic.

"Nobody's going to get very drunk playing "Never Have I Ever" with a bunch of ex-Mormons now, are we?" Neeley says with a roll of his eyes, "Although I'd play spin the bottle with some of those Ugandan girls."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear a word of that," Connor stops him, "And then I'm going to have Mafala come kick your ass."

"In fact,  _ I _ might kick your ass," Kevin pipes up, and Neeley holds his hands up defensively.

"Hey, what? How come Arnold gets a girlfriend and we can't?"

"Firstly, he wasn't looking for one," Connor says sensibly, "If it happens by accident because of mutual connection, then that's different..."

"Oh, there'll be a mutual connection alright..."

"Oh my god," Connor can feel his face flushing again and he shakes his finger at the other man, "No- you don't get to touch anyone! Possibly ever again."

Neeley pouts at him and Connor worms away from under his arm, joining the crowd instead as the beat of the music finally calls to him. It's a much better alternative to that conversation. He finds the bottom of his cup once more, feeling  _ good _ , and he starts to bop to the music without really thinking about it.

Thomas is suddenly in front of him and they dance together, shimmying and dipping against each other. Neither of them really know how to dance to music like this but it doesn't matter, because they're laughing and it's hot and they're sweating but for once Connor doesn't really mind. His head is a happy little fog and he feels warm both inside and out. 

He smiles at the thought; he kind of feels like a space heater right now, and it's suddenly incredibly important that he checks to see if Kevin can feel the warmth radiating from his bones. He finds him back at the wall, smiling brightly and laying his palm flat against Kevin's arm without a word. Kevin looks at him curiously, but there's a smile on his face.

"You okay there, bud?"

"Just wanted you to see if I was warm," Connor answers easily.

Kevin nods, laughing softly, "Do you need to sit down?" 

"No, no..." Connor hums, taking in a deep breath and tossing his head to the ceiling, "We should've put in a skylight. I want to see the sky."

"We can't leave the hall, remember?"

"That's a dumbass rule," Connor grumbles, forgetting that it was his own, "Why aren't you like this?" he gestures to his face, hoping Kevin understands, "Are you even drinking?"

"I'm drinking!" Kevin protests, taking the last sip from his own cup. He makes another face, "It's actually disgusting. How do people drink this? And how did you finish your second cup so long ago?"

"It's not so bad," Connor defends, but he doesn't know why, "Do you think I can I have more?"

"I would offer you mine, but I just finished it..." Kevin says, holding his cup upside-down to show the lack of liquid inside it.

"Oh!" he huffs, "Well, we should find some more then..." Connor says, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. When he opens them again, he gets distracted, spotting Church and Thomas in the crowd and leaving Kevin's side.

"It's _ hot _ ," Connor tells them by way of greeting.

Connor's pleased when Kevin joins him, glad to have gotten him away from the wall, and he turns his head to grin at him lopsidedly. His face kind of feels off-centre and he's worried about it for a second before Thomas starts speaking.

"It  _ is _ hot," Thomas replies, "But I think that's from all the dancing we did." 

"We should dance more," Connor says, because he can't remember why they stopped.

"How are we all feeling over here?" Mafala asks, and Connor beams at him, curious as to how he just seems to appear and reappear all the time. Connor decides he's a wizard. 

"Great! We're- well, me, I'm so great. I feel great! I can't speak for these boys here. They have mouths and tongues to do the talking for them," he says earnestly. 

Mafala listens to him and somehow manages to keep a straight face, nodding slowly, "I'm glad you're enjoying it," he says evenly, glancing around at the other boys. He's met with grins and nods, confirming that they're all fine. "Does that mean you're ready for a refill?"

"Yes please!" Thomas says, thrusting his cup in Mafala's direction. Kevin and Connor obediently hold out their cups too, and he fills them halfway.

Connor takes it slow this time, taking a short sip. It's almost starting to taste good, which is somehow worrying and satisfying at the same time. It's certainly easier to drink, and despite his intentions of going slow, he ends up taking another sip. He feels confident, and sure of himself for the first time in a long time. He's in control, and he's spending the best year of his life with his best friends.

He looks around at them fondly, "I love you guys,"

"I love you too," Thomas says almost immediately, "But I think I love Church more, you know?"

He says it so conversationally that it takes a second for Church to register what he says. The other man stiffens beside him, shooting a wide eyed look at both Kevin and Connor. Connor's eyes light up, his mouth falling open in surprise, and Kevin's equally as astonished. A slow grin spreads over his face, a soft giggle leaving his lips.

"I- he's just..." Church splutters.

"It's okay," Connor soothes him, pressing a finger to Church's lips, "It's okay. We know. Right?" he looks to Kevin.

Kevin nods sagely, "We know," he tells Church, "We love it. Even if you aren't that sneaky."

"Who else would just  _ go _ to Kampala? Alone. For a  _ week. _ " Connor asks, rolling his eyes so hard it makes him dizzy.

Church is blushing a deep red, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, but Thomas just sits there and laughs.

"Well what about  _ you _ guys?"

Connor has enough brain power to recognise that this is not a good conversation to be a part of, and his eyes widen.

"Us?" Kevin murmurs, tilting his head and taking a lengthy swig from his cup.

"You. Always working together. Sitting close. All that  _ flirting _ ."

Connor sputters just as violently as Church had, cutting Kevin off before he has the chance to speak and break the little illusion that Connor has built up in his head.

"Don't know  _ what _ you're talking about, Thomas. You're drunk."

" _ I'm  _ drunk," Thomas agrees, humming delightedly as he wraps his arm around Church, pressing his face against his shoulder,

Connor watches their closeness with a pang of jealously, and he needs to distract himself or he's going to end up hugging someone. He turns to find something that will do the trick and his eyes land on Kevin. It's not helpful in his quest to avoid a hug, so instead he says the first thing that comes to his head.

"I want to hear you sing," he tells him.

Kevin's grin is wide and cheeky as he shakes his head, "Nope," he says, popping the end of the word. 

Crestfallen, Connor presses his palm to Kevin's chest (at least it's not a hug!). He has intentions to reprimand him, or maybe beg, but Connor can feel his heartbeat and suddenly nothing else matters. He presses gentle fingers to the hollow of Kevin's throat, fascinated when he swallows. His pulse is quick here, and Connor can't help but stare, captivated. He wants to press his lips there, to feel the blood rushing beneath his skin, to-

"I'm not... gonna sing," Kevin says slowly, distracting him. Connor briefly wonders why he said it, before he remembers that he asked in the first place.

"And why not?" he asks, his hand still against his chest.

"Because," Kevin answers softly.

Kevin is very close to him. Connor can smell the Waragi on his breath, and Kevin's face is slightly blurry as he gazes back at him. He's finding it hard to focus but Kevin's eyes are beautiful and he's never seen them this close before, blinking to try and bring them into focus. His skin is beautifully clear despite the dry conditions, and his lips are- close. So close. He wonders if they taste as sharp and bitter as the Waragi did. Connor's chest is heaving lightly and he's about to lean in to taste before Kevin pulls away, a tiny smirk on his lips.

For a second he's disappointed, but then Kevin opens his mouth and _ sings. _

It's Disney - of  _ course _ it's Disney - and Connor stands there dumbstruck as he listens to the opening lines of  _ I Can Go The Distance _ from Hercules.

Even the people around him stop their dancing to listen. The drumbeats are a little quieter as Kevin takes them on a journey, leaping onto the stage as he sings - no,  _ performs _ for them.

As he reaches the final note, Connor is the first to jump to his feet, clapping loudly until everyone else follows with cheering and whistles. Kevin is flushed but he's grinning widely as he staggers down from the stage, giggling almost uncontrollably.

He's started something, because immediately he's replaced by one of the Ugandan's, who starts singing as well. The crowd cheers but Connor only has eyes for Kevin.

"You sang!" he exclaims, and Connor can't help it, he _ has _ to hug him.

He wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him against his chest. Kevin sags against him, exhausted by his performance. His heartbeat his faster now, his body radiating heat and warmth and Connor feels so complete and safe that he never wants to let him go.

"I sang," Kevin confirms, pulling back to hold Connor at arms length. Connor tries not to pout. 

They're staring at each other again, close enough that Connor can make out all the golden flecks in Kevin's eyes. He's awestruck, taking in every fine feature he can because Kevin is just so  _ beautiful _ . He's known this all along, of course, but getting to see it up close is like staring at a work of art, perfectly crafted for Connor's own enjoyment.

"You... are beautiful."

For a moment, Connor thought that the words in his head had somehow left his mouth without his permission, but his eyebrows almost hit his hairline when he realises that it was Kevin who had said it.

He barks out a laugh, breaking every ounce of tension that was gathering between them.

"What?" he exclaims, unable to even comprehend the fact that Kevin just complimented him, "Were you just reading my mind? I was just thinking the same about you."

It's not meant to be a line - it's true, after all - but he watches Kevin's cheeks heat up prettily and Connor thinks that maybe he's actually good at this flirting thing. Being drunk is a phenomenal experience. It's not like he didn't have these thoughts without the alcohol. But it seems to have lifted his filter, and allows him to stop questioning why things may or may not be a good idea to do or say. 

He's about to try flirting again when there's a sudden commotion and-

Despite his prowess, Neeley's the first one to throw up.

He holds a hand over his mouth as he rushes for the doorway. Connor suddenly feels immediately sober as he tries to get his bearings, ready to leap into action. It takes him a moment to see that Kimbay is looking after the situation, following Neeley outside, and he's kind of glad because he was definitely _ not _ ready to handle that, and the drunken haze settles back over him as he relaxes. Kevin is still there, one hand still gripping Connor's forearm, and Connor blinks dumbly back at him.

"Guess he's on dishes duty from now on..." Connor hums softly.

"Sure is," Kevin murmurs quietly, swaying slightly where he stands.

Connor thinks they need to sit for a moment and he glances around, finding Thomas and Church again. They're sitting on the ground in a darker corner, Thomas practically in Church's lap. Though sober, Church seems to be enjoying himself, rubbing Thomas' back and carding his fingers through his hair. Connor reaches for Kevin's hand on his forearm, lacing their fingers together without a second thought and dragging him over to the corner, flopping down onto the floor.

"I can't remember where our cups went," Connor says as he thinks hard. He honestly can't remember when or where he put it down.

"You want another drink?" Thomas asks incredulously, looking as if his head weighs a thousand pounds as he pulls it up from Church's neck.

"No! No, no I'm good right here thank you. I don't want to vomit in a bush outside," he says indignantly, "But I'm worried I left it somewhere where it shouldn't be..."

"You worry too much," Kevin tells Connor, squeezing his hand lightly.

Connor didn't realise they were still holding hands until that moment, and he giggles a little. He likes holding hands. It's nice and platonic with this boy he's platonically friends with but also desperately wants to kiss. Affection is just  _ nice _ .

"Boys," Mafala startles him, towering over their seated forms. Thomas practically falls off Church's lap, pretending that he wasn't just sucking hickeys into his neck. He's very red, and Connor laughs at him, "You must drink some water now."

"No thank you," Connor says with a shake of his head, rubbing his stomach lightly, "I'm full."

Kevin releases Connor's hand to take both cups that Mafala offers, passing one to Connor. Despite his protests, he takes it without further complaint.

"Trust me. Water will help you in the morning."

Connor grumbles quietly into his cup as he drains it, thirstier than he realised. Mafala refills it and urges him to drink more, so he does. It still tastes like brown, but he's kind of used to it now. By the time he's done, Mafala has already walked away so he forgets to thank him, leaning back against the wooden wall. 

"This has been fun," he murmurs, and suddenly his body feels so heavy that he can't lift up his arms, "I've had so much fun..."

Thomas murmurs a soft agreement, but he can barely hear it over the sounds of the drums and stamping feet. It doesn't seem to matter much, anyway.

He catches Kevin staring at him with what he hopes is fond eyes, but he honestly can't see him properly right now. His eyelids are so heavy and he tries to blink them back open, but there's no use. Instead he just smiles back at Kevin, sighing contently and resting his head against the wall.

He smiles at Kevin until his eyes close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't need to remind you to check my sister's profile out but she's been posting BoM too and it's a great time to exist, you know??


	5. the aftermath

Connor's going to vomit.

It's the only thing on his mind as his eyes snap open.

His back aches and his neck is stiff and his head _throbs,_ and everything is terrible but he doesn't want to move. He's certain that moving will definitely cause everything in his stomach to tumble unceremoniously onto the floor in front of him.

"Good morning."

Church is sitting opposite him with a small, smug smile.

Connor shakes his head minutely but even that is too much and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly, mentally begging himself not to throw up. He doesn't want to throw up.

A cup is pressed into his hand but he still can't move. He takes shallow breaths and keeps still until finally, several minutes later, he can release a long, slow breath without fear. Slowly, he lifts the cup to his chapped lips, taking the tiniest sip in the world, the water barely wetting his mouth. He swallows delicately.

"Sometimes puking helps, I've heard," Church tells him gently, "Gets rid of all the bad stuff."

"No," Connor murmurs. His eyes are still tightly shut, but he managed that word with no adverse effects, so he continues, "Don't want to throw up."

As he sits there, he grows more and more aware of his surroundings. He's still on the floor of the town hall, and he can feel Kevin and Thomas beside him still. From the gentle snores to his left, he can tell Thomas is still asleep. Kevin is quiet, but his breaths are deep and even.

"Did you sleep here?" Connor murmurs, and he cracks one eye open to peer at Church. The light is bright and he closes his eye again slightly, letting himself get used to it.

"No," Church laughs quietly, "The second you were all asleep, I managed to get out from under Poptarts and went to sleep in my bed."

"Good choice," Connor murmurs, "My back is killing me," he manages another small sip from the cup, starting to feel marginally better than before, "Where are the others?"

"They partied a lot longer than you guys did. I think you and Price were the first ones out, and I'm really not sure how you didn't get woken up. There were inappropriate rain dances, and lots more karaoke. Very entertaining, I have to say," he grins, "When it all started to wind down, Mafala and Kimbay forced everyone to drink some water and escorted them back up to the hut."

"So they all got to sleep comfortably too? Lucky them," Connor grumbles, opening both eyes fully and taking a longer drink. He focuses on Church sitting in front of him and squints when he immediately notices the hickeys on his neck, dark and obvious against his pale skin. He wonders if Church has seen them yet.

"Hey, _you_ guys were the ones who went quiet and fell asleep. It happened so fast - you were drinking water and suddenly you were snoring."

"Shhhhh," Thomas groans at them.

Church winces as he glances over, "Sorry."

Thomas pouts, pushing himself up onto his hands blearily. It takes him a moment, blinking sleepily before he immediately pales, "Oh no..."

In a flash - much faster than Connor could've ever moved in the first moments of waking - Thomas is up and stumbling for the doorway. Church follows him and Connor winces as he hears him retching, glad that he at least made it out of the town hall.

"Ew," Kevin murmurs from beside him, and Connor turns his head.

"Don't throw up on me," Connor mutters back, offering his half-empty cup to him.

Kevin takes it slowly, taking a sip, "I'm okay," he says softly, letting out a long groan as he leans his head back against the wall, "Head hurts, but stomach's okay."

Connor can't think of anything to say; he's too tired and hungover, so he just grunts in response.

It’s only then that memories from last night come back to him. Of holding Kevin’s hand, tugging him along as he roamed the town hall. Of standing so close that he could feel the heat radiating from him; wanting to kiss him and watching Kevin pull away.

He's mortified, his eyes turning to saucers as he stares into the void, aware of Kevin beside him but wishing he was anywhere else. Would they have kissed, if Kevin hadn’t pulled away? Did Kevin pull away because he recognised what was about to happen? It was fair, of course. Kevin was straight, and a gay guy trying to kiss him was probably the last thing he would’ve wanted. But Connor had expected a worse reaction. A firm push as Kevin glared at him, disgusted with his behaviour because he had told him otherwise, and Connor just couldn’t help himself. It was bad. Connor is a _bad_ person, and he has to work on stopping himself from giving into his delusions. Kevin is his best friend, and he can’t betray that. He can’t lose him.

“Um,” Connor says, because he’s thinking about it and if he’s thinking about it, then Kevin is probably thinking about it and he needs to remove the anticipatory tension that he’s building within himself.

“No,” Kevin tells him, and Connor stops in his tracks, glancing over at him, “I assume you were going to say something about getting up, and the answer is no. I’m okay here. Thank you.”

Maybe Kevin isn’t thinking about it, then.

Connor heaves a big sigh, leaning back against the uncomfortable wall of the hall and closing his eyes.

A moment later he opens them but somehow it’s mid-afternoon. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep again, and his back and neck hate him even more now. This time he’s alone, and there’s a full cup of water beside him which he takes and has a long drink of. At least the urge to throw up has subsided, and he chances getting to his feet. His head spins but everything remains where it should, and he lets out a soft breath. 

He knows the cliché – the “I’m never drinking again” moment after the hangover hits. He’s seen it enough in the few movies he’s watched, but he doesn’t have the same feeling. He had a good, fun night, and if this is the price of it, then it seems like a fair trade.

“Ah, finally awake,” Mafala catches him mid-stretch, trying to convince his aching back into cooperating, “I was wondering if you’d ever join us again.”

Connor chuckles, “Thanks for leaving me on the floor.”

“You’re very welcome,” Mafala says with a pleasant smile, “There is food, for when you can stomach it.”

“Thanks, Mafala. And thank you, and the others for looking after us. It wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“It was our pleasure, after everything you have done for us. And no, your friends are not difficult to keep track of.”

“Especially with Neeley out so early and Church not drinking.”

Mafala laughs, “Your friend Neeley continued to drink once he had recovered.”

Connor stares for a moment, before he shakes his head, “Figures,” he hums, “Is everyone else up and about?”

“No, most of them are still in their beds. They’re alive though, I checked.”

“That's reassuring," he says with a small laugh, "Have you… uh, did you see Kevin at all?” he tries to be casual about it, but the grin on Mafala’s face makes him think he failed. 

“He is sitting out by the dam. Has been, for most of the day.”

Connor nods, and he wants to go to him, to make sure it’s not weird between them, but his stomach rumbles and he really needs food before the nausea comes back to haunt him.

“Okay, thank you. I’m going to grab some food and more water.”

“Very wise," Mafala smiles, before leaving him in the hall.

Connor stops at the outdoor kitchen area where a cold bowl of soup is waiting for him, along with several slices of bread. Suddenly ravenous, he eats quickly and has two more cups of water before he feels semi-human again and makes his way to the dam. His heart sinks as he sees it’s barely a puddle at this point, with no clouds in sight. All fear of the dangerous water gone, he spots Kevin sitting in the bed where the water once was and steps down, approaching slowly.

“Hey,” Connor calls, and Kevin startles and turns to see him, smiling slightly.

“You’re awake.”

“Finally. I don’t think my back will ever be the same again though.”

“Mine either,” Kevin says, laying down on his back and staring up at Connor, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Are you okay?” Connor asks as he sits, leaning back on his arms so he can look at Kevin properly.

Kevin’s quiet and Connor can’t help but let his mind race to all the terrible conclusions it can. Maybe he was trying to find the polite way to talk about last night? Maybe-

“Just thinking. Everything’s changing,” Connor frowns, glancing over at him curiously, prompting him to continue, “Our lives. They’re changing. We’re drinking; we’re repairing huts. We’re living our lives as if this wasn’t Uganda. We’re… experiencing so much for the first time, and we can finally think for ourselves, you know?”

“You sound conflicted, like it’s a bad thing.”

“No,” Kevin corrects, “Not a bad thing. Just… a different thing. Something I’m not used to. All the good versus bad that we were taught doesn’t seem to make sense anymore. Less sense than the Book of Mormon did,” he says with a roll of his eyes, “Everything’s just…blurry and grey.”

Connor nods slowly, curious as to where all of these thoughts have suddenly come from. He wants to help, but he’s not exactly sure how, "It's kind of overwhelming, sometimes."

Kevin nods, "Too overwhelming," he admits, "But..." he sighs, "It's getting easier, I guess, to accept that things really aren't just black and white."

"I think the more we get used to life beyond the teachings, the more we'll get used to it," Connor agrees softly.

They fall into a comfortable silence. Connor stares at the sky and he thinks that maybe there's the hint of a cloud in the distance, but it's hard to tell. He hopes so; they really need the water. Everything is dry and dusty, and even the crops are starting to wither away.

"Man, I can't believe I actually sang in front of all those people last night."

Kevin's eyes are closed as he lays back, so he doesn't see Connor look over at him. He's horrified that the conversation is starting like this; that they're addressing the elephant in the room. He doesn't want to talk about it, really, but it seems he has no choice.

"Trust me, it wasn't the most embarrassing thing that happened last night. You were- you were actually amazing, Kevin. I don't know why you don't sing more."

Connor can see him smiling, shaking his head, "I can sing," he admits, "I know I can. It's just...strange, in front of people."

"I liked it," Connor says softly.

He doesn't bring up what lead to Kevin singing. It's dangerous territory, and an invitation into that conversation fills Connor with dread. If he brings it up, he'll seem to eager to talk about it, desperate maybe to see how Kevin feels, and he definitely doesn't want to be desperate. But if Kevin brings it up, well, Connor can prepare for that. Kevin's tone would be telling enough; Connor could easily blow it off like a drunken mistake, defend his honour and lick his wounds later. Or...it could be a positive conversation; a mutual discussion that could lead to...good things? But he doesn't give himself that kind of hope. He just waits for Kevin to make a decision.

But Kevin doesn't; he doesn't say _anything_ , and the silence almost kills Connor.

"Did you have a good night?" Connor finally asks, unable to help himself.

"I did," Kevin says, his eyes finally opening, "I had a really good night, actually. Best I've had in a while."

"...Do you remember all of it?" Connor has to ask.

He watches Kevin smile again, "Yeah. I do."

Connor doesn't know what to make of that. What does he mean, and why was he smiling? Did he _actually_ remember everything? There's too many questions and Connor isn't even sure how to start asking him what he means, but before he can think too hard about it, Kevin gets to his feet.

"Come on. The bugs will be out in full force, soon."

It's already starting to get dark, and Connor nods with a soft sigh. He'd forgotten that he'd wasted the day sleeping, but if he's honest, he's already ready to get back to sleep. Whatever Kevin's thinking, he doesn't know. And maybe he doesn't want to know. It feels strange and secretive, like it's being kept from him for a reason. Maybe Kevin's just toying with him. He doesn't know, and he doesn't want to dwell on it. He had a good night, and it's not weird between him and Kevin and he' like to keep it that way.

He follows Kevin to the village and all still seems quiet; most of the other boys haven't emerged, even for dinner. There are snacks around, so Connor knows they won't go hungry if they _do_ decide to get up later.

"I'm...actually really tired still, believe it or not," Connor tells him around a yawn, which makes Kevin smile, "I think I'm going to call it an early night and hopefully be better by tomorrow."

Kevin nods, "I want thinking the same thing. I hope your back feels better too. Sweet dreams, Connor."

"Yeah. Yeah, you too..." he says, his heart fluttering as the phrase caught him off-guard.

He shuffles into his room, where Thomas is passed out face first on his bed. He chuckles quietly, lowering himself onto his own bed. Compared to the floor it's a soft cloud of heaven and he sinks onto it gratefully.

"Mmmph," Thomas mumbles back at him, lifting himself up on one arm to peer at him sleepily, "Morning..."

"Good night, you mean," Connor says back, offering him a small smile, "Go back to sleep. Might be morning by the time you wake up again."

"Feel like shit," he grumbles, curling in on himself, "Never drinking again..."

There's the cliche, and Connor can't help his smile, "It'll be alright. Just sleep, and drink water when you get up."

Thomas grunts at him, pressing his face into his pillows again. Connor thinks he's fallen back asleep until he speaks again, muffled by the fabric.

"Hm?"

Thomas lifts himself back up, his eyes a little clearer now, "How did it go with Kevin?"

"Oh. Fine, as usual."

"Did you talk?" he asks, "I mean...you did almost kiss him last night."

Connor stiffens, staring at Thomas with wide eyes, "I- It wasn't like that."

"It was totally like that," Thomas murmurs, too tired and hungover to deal with Connor's dithering, "I saw you both. It was hot."

Connor winces, "Don't say that," he mutters quietly. He can feel his face heating up, and he really doesn't want to have this conversation, "It wasn't anything. We weren't thinking, you know? It was the alcohol."

"Did you see any of the other straight boys almost kissing each other last night?"

"Well, the fact that he didn't kiss me is the answer then."

Thomas rolls his eyes, "He's clearly confused. But he wanted to kiss you, Connor."

"I don't want to talk about it," Connor murmurs, staring up at the ceiling. They seem to have this debate a lot, but Thomas has more fuel this time, "So what if he's confused? He's told me he's straight and until I hear otherwise, I'm not going to be the one to tell him he isn't, or try and 'convert' or convince him or whatever."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Thomas asks with a choked little laugh, "I've been telling you from the beginning that Kevin Price isn't a straight man."

"But he _said_ he's straight!"

"So did you, when we first met."

Thomas has got him there. He doesn't say anything for a moment, glaring up at the ceiling, "Yeah, you're right," he concedes, "But if you had stood there and told me to my face that I was the gayest man alive, we wouldn't have been very good friends afterwards."

"I'm not telling you to go tell him he's gay. I'm just telling you what I saw last night, and that you should give yourself a break."

Connor huffs softly but he doesn't argue anymore. He has to admit, after last night, it's hard to convince himself that Kevin isn't interested in him. But building up hope that might turn out to be false feels dangerous. He doesn't know what to do, but at the very least that's been the story of his life since he arrived in Uganda, so at least it's business as usual.

"What about you and Church?" Connor finally asks, rolling onto his side, "You seemed pretty close last night."

"Mm," Thomas mumbles, "He's mad at me for the hickeys. It's his fault. He was the sober one. If he didn't want them, he should've stopped me." 

"What do you mean, 'mad at you',"

"He thinks it's obvious now," Thomas tells him, "That we've branded ourselves a couple for everyone to see. But you said it last night; it was _already_ obvious and nobody cared then, so why should they now?"

"So he's not talking to you anymore?"

"It'll blow over," Thomas assures him, "I think he's just embarrassed. I'll talk to him tomorrow when I don't feel so shitty, but it's just weird, you know? Like all of a sudden there's a problem.

"I guess Kevin and I didn't help..."

"It's not your fault," Thomas says, "Honestly, he's just being dumb, and he'll get over himself soon."

Connor nods slowly, rolling onto his back again. He waits for there to be more conversation; maybe Thomas wants to talk more, but he finds himself drifting off far too fast, giving into sleep as soon as it beckons.

~~~

When he wakes up, it's actually a reasonable hour the next morning. He feels almost normal, aside from the dry mouth.

"Poptarts," he murmurs softly at the young man still snoring next to him.

It takes a couple of attempts, but soon Thomas is blinking awake slowly and together they lethargically get ready for the day. Luckily most of the other missionaries are up and making breakfast, laughing and sharing drunken stories. It feels good, and as Connor sits on the couch listening, he does a quick headcount to make sure everyone is there. He notices that Church has his collar popped, most likely to hide the offending bruises on his neck, and immediately he worries about their little relationship, and how it might recover. Still, there are two missionaries missing, and he rolls his eyes when he realises which ones. 

"Has anyone seen Kevin and Arnold this morning?" Connor asks, and Neeley lets out a soft wolf whistle.

"Surprised you haven't, lover boy."

Connor can't help the sudden rage that hits him, unexpected and unfamiliar as he glares at Neeley, "Don't." he growls, getting to his feet. The other boys go quiet, watching them both, but Neeley raises his hands in defence, immediately backing down. Connor didn't mean to get so worked up about it, but after his conversation with Thomas... He just didn't want anyone else making assumptions that weren't theirs to make.

"He- uh, he and Cunningham left early this morning," Davis says hesitantly after a beat.

Connor nods, biting his lip before he steps over to Neeley, feeling guilty for the knee-jerk reaction, "Hey. Uh, sorry."

Neeley has his bravado back, and he almost seems to square up as he watches Connor, "You seem a bit defensive."

"Yeah. I am," Connor answers him, sitting down next to him, "But that doesn't mean I can take it out on you."

"Am I wrong though?" Neeley asks, his eyes narrowing.

Connor tries to stop the fear and anger rising in his chest again, "I'm not really sure it's any of your business."

"Hey, easy. I mean, I was just checking, 'cause if you're not going to make a move, then maybe I will."

Connor goes so still he thinks his heart might've actually stopped for a second as he stares at Neeley in complete surprise and horror.

It's a beat before Neeley bursts out laughing, slapping Connor on the shoulder, "Holy shit, I'm kidding. Just wanted to see what you'd do."

Connor doesn't like him. Of all the missionaries, Neeley has always gotten under his skin just a little more than the others. He pushes buttons in the worst way, and Connor just glowers at him now.

"I swear to-"

His well crafted comeback is interrupted as Arnold and Kevin burst through the front door.

"Oh my god everyone, Price is dying," Arnold exclaims.

"I'm not- dying, I just- need a bandage," 

It's an understatement. Kevin holds his forearm close to his chest, his fingers white from gripping so hard. There's blood _everywhere_ , down both arms, dripping onto his shirt, coming from a deep gash down his forearm.

"Oh my gosh, Kevin," Connor's beside him in seconds, his issue with Neeley forgotten as he grips Kevin's upper arm and drags him into the kitchen, "Come over here, don't drip onto the rug. What on earth happened?"

Zelder and Davis appear in the kitchen as well, helping Connor with the medical kit. He's been teaching them some basic first aid, just in case Connor is ever the one who is incapacitated.

"I was helping with securing the fencing, and I just got caught on some of the barbed wire,"

"I think you need stitches," Connor says. Kevin hasn't even removed the pressure from his arm yet and Connor knows it, "It's pretty deep."

Kevin shakes his head, "No. No, I- I don't want to go to the hospital."

"If we can't stop it from bleeding, I don't think you have a choice. It's less likely to get infected if you have stitches, too. Did you get the recommended tetanus shot before you came to Uganda?"

Kevin nods, and Connor can see he's gotten a little more pale over the last couple of minutes, "Yeah, I'm up to date with all of the vaccines they told us to get," he says, "Can't you just- push the edges together and put a bandaid on it?"

Connor fixes him with a level stare, "No. I can't just put a bandaid on it, Kevin," he says, thinking for a moment, "Maybe we don't have to go into the hospital?" he suggests, "What if Gotswana came here? Or maybe to the town hall?"

"Town hall," Zelder agrees beside him, "There's more space there. And less squeamish boys."

Kevin glances between them, pained and nervous before he nods, "Okay."

"Davis, can you go get Gotswana, tell him what happened? Zelder, make sure that he's keeping pressure on the wound. I'll meet you at the town hall." 

Connor's curious about Kevin's aversion to the hospital. He knows it's where Kevin ended up after his run-in with the General, but aside from a few bruises, he had seemed relatively unharmed. Then again, Connor hadn't been paying as much attention then - there were baptisms, and the Mission President was coming. He was a different person then.

He gathers up the first aid kit and a few spare hand towels, giving a brief rundown to the other boys before starting on his way, Arnold in tow. The air feels thicker and electrically charged, and he can see a few dark clouds in the distance. A storm is coming, but whether it manages to rain over the village is another question altogether.

"...and we were just talking, you know, about life and boys and how drunk he-"

"Boys?" Connor has mostly been ignoring Arnold as he rambles on about how exactly Kevin was hurt, but the last line caught his ear. Had Kevin been talking to Arnold about- maybe about his feelings?

"Yeah, boys. You know..." Arnold says with a vague gesture, and there's too much emphasis on his eyebrows that Connor's a little put off by the whole conversation. 

"I'm not sure what you mean," he says slowly, because he doesn't want to come right out and ask Arnold to spill Kevin's secrets, especially if they were about- well, him.

"Are you sure...?" Arnold asks, looking incredibly surprised, "Well...maybe you will some day."

Connor's about to protest, but they're at the town hall and he doesn't really have time to talk in circles with Arnold right now. Any gossip about Kevin's feelings can wait. They've beaten Gotswana there, and enter to find Kevin sitting on the stage, still clutching his arm.

"How are you feeling?" Connor asks, crouching down next to him.

"Fine," Kevin murmurs, but he's incredibly tight lipped and Connor thinks he's lying, "The bleeding has stopped. Maybe I don't need stitches after all?"

He very slowly removes his hand from where he's been gripping, a slight groan leaving his lips. Whatever clotting had started to form is jostled and ripped away with the dried blood, and parts of his cut start leaking blood again.

"Oh gross..." Arnold murmurs, immediately backing up, "On second thought, I'll be outside..."

"Stop- moving your arm like that," Connor snaps, finding the hand towels he had brought and using them to apply pressure again, shaking his head, "You need stitches, Kevin. Trust me."

Kevin scowls down at him, but he doesn't protest as Connor lifts his arm above their heads and keeps it there. Kevin stares at him quizzically.

"What are you-"

"Oh, I know this one," Zelder pipes up, "It slows the flow of blood if the wound is above your heart."

"Good job," Connor murmurs softly, "He's right, it'll stop you from-"

"Where is the patient?" Gotswana enters with building, striding towards the stage with a bag in his hand.

Connor feels Kevin viscerally recoil from him, staring up at the ceiling instead. It raises a few more burning questions, but now isn't the time.

"It's barbed wire," Connor reports, "But he's up to date with tetanus, so I think he just needs stitches."

"Are you looking for part-time work as a nurse?" Gotswana chuckles, "I could sure use one."

Connor laughs but shakes his head, "No, no. I've just been to enough first aid classes that I know my steri-strips from my saline solutions."

He laughs at his own joke, but nobody else does. Everyone politely ignores him so he looks to Kevin, who seems like he wants to be anywhere but right here. He's pale, his fingers shaking again.

"Hey," Connor says softly, trying to get his attention.

Gotswana takes Kevin's arm so Connor can drop his own, reaching for Kevin's free hand instead. Holding hands was acceptable the other night, so Connor is going to pretend that it's okay now as well. He squeezes gently, offering him a small smile.

"It's okay, and it's not that bad," he promises, "I had to get stitches last year."

"You did?"

He nods with a smile, letting go of Kevin's hand and holding up his own arm. The scar is almost in the same spot that Kevin's gash is, "Look, we're going to match," he says with a fond smile, "It was the night I graduated high school, actually. I was accepting my diploma, all smiles, and then got distracted looking at a camera while I was coming down the steps. Tripped and caught it on an exposed nail,"

The distraction has worked and Kevin is calmer as he holds his arm out. He winces every time the needle goes in and out, and Connor wonders if Gotswana used an anaesthetic. He didn't see it, but then again he was talking and might not have noticed.

"Did it hurt?" Kevin asks, reaching out and trailing his fingers along the scarred skin.

"A lot," Connor laughs, "Seven stitches."

Kevin glances up at him, nodding slowly. He looks like he's going to speak again until his face twists in pain and he reaches for Connor's hand to squeeze it tightly. The small action should be insignificant; Connor shouldn't get so excited by something as small as reaching for his hand to comfort him...and yet, he can't help his smile. He tries to hide it, but it comes more naturally when Kevin swears, "Oh, fuck."

Gotswana chuckles quietly, "Almost done."

Connor's mind races as he thinks of another story to tell him, "Um, I think the only other major health scare I had was when I was fifteen, and- well, my dramatic ass thought I was having a heart attack? Sweaty, couldn't breathe, heart palpitations. I thought it was the end, I was ready to die, had made peace with myself..."

"What happened?" Kevin asked worriedly.

"Ah...it was just a panic attack," he admits sheepishly, "But I'd never had one before, so I was pretty blindsided by it all."

Kevin stares for a moment before he giggles quietly, "You thought a panic attack was a heart attack?"

"It was almost all the same symptoms!" Connor protests, but he's glad the smile is back on Kevin's face.

"Alright, all done," Gotswana says as he starts to pack away his things. Kevin looks surprised, and Connor hopes it's because he was distracted enough that it didn't take as long or hurt as much as he thought it would, "No bandages, keep it clean and dry for at least forty-eight hours. No itching, no touching, and come see me if it starts to fester."

"Um, we'll be seeing you a long time before the festering starts," Connor tells him, but Gotswana just smiles, "How can we pay you?"

"The first set of stitches are on the house," he says, "Just keep doing the good work that you boys are doing in the village."

Kevin thanks him tentatively and the doctor puts a gentle hand on his shoulder before leaving. In the last hour, everyone's interactions with Kevin have simply strung a list of never-ending questions together. But...it's another part that Kevin doesn't like talking about, so Connor won't be the one to bring it up.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, helping Zelder and Davis clear away the wrapping and rubbish.

"Better than I was when I thought I was about to bleed out."

"Ah, see. I'm not the only hypochondriac," Connor smirks, looking over the fresh stitches and tilting his head, "We should get the rest of the blood cleaned away. And a new shirt."

Kevin glances down at the blood stains, nodding, "Yeah, that's a good idea,"

"We can grab that," Zelder pipes up, "So you don't have to walk through the village like that. Again..."

"...both of us?" Davis asks, but Zelder just nods.

Connor tries to ignore how strange they're behaving, wondering if it's a result of how scathingly he'd attacked Neeley that morning. Did _everyone_ just know now or something? Kevin watches them go, before offering a small smile to Connor.

"Hey, um, thanks. You know, for helping. I..." he swallows thickly, and his eyes slide away from Connor, "I don't like hospitals. Obviously, but I just-"

"It's okay," Connor says, and he finds his hand again because it feels right to comfort him like this, "Some stuff is tough. But we don't have to talk about those things if you don't want to. I know you didn't want to talk about it before, so... Don't push yourself, okay?"

Kevin nods slowly, and he looks thoughtful, like he wants to say more. If he opens his mouth again to speak, Connor doesn't see it, distracted by a villager who runs past the door. There's a commotion outside; so many people are talking at once and Connor glances at Kevin worriedly.

"That doesn't sound good."

They get to their feet and head outside, joining the small crowd around Masika. It surprises Connor that they're listening to her, but when he hears he understands why.

"Baako says he is making rounds of the villages again, and he is _not_ happy."

"Wait, who?" Connor asks, although he has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly who she's talking about.

"The General!" she explains, "He is coming back."

Connor immediately looks to Kevin, who has paled in response to the news. In the distance, thunder rumbles ominously; a terrifying backdrop to the news that they've been given.

"Calm down," Mafala eases, "I am sure the General will avoid our village, after what happened to him last time he was here."

"Besides, if he tries to pull anything, we'll just scare him away again!" Michaels calls, and the other villagers cheer, their spirits brighter.

Connor wasn't there the first time, but he suspects it won't be that easy. If the General had been humiliated when he left, it wouldn't be hard to imagine exactly why he was returning. He looks back to Kevin again, pale and trembling beside him.

"Hey," Connor murmurs, "It's okay. He's not coming anywhere near you."

Zelder appears at their side, holding a clean shirt, but Connor shakes his head. The shirt doesn't matter anymore, and he turns to Kevin again, "Come on. Let's go back out to the dam."

Kevin's not listening, his eyes glassy as he's lost in his own head. Connor takes his arm, forcing him to move and walk away from the crowd.

They're halfway to the dam when Kevin finally speaks.

"Sorry."

Connor's relieved; had been worried he wasn't going to snap out of it, "Don't be sorry."

"I am though," he whispers, "I wish I could just- be okay with it."

Connor's heard it before, and he nods, "I know," he says gently, "But you aren't yet. And that's okay." 

"I don't know what to do. What if he comes _back_ , Connor? What if he comes back and he- he comes at me- and..."

His chin quivers and he stops walking, covering his mouth with his hand as a sob leaves his lips. Connor doesn't hesitate. It only takes seconds before his arms are around Kevin, pulling him close to his chest.

Together they sink to the ground and Kevin clutches him tightly as he convulses with sobs, wetting Connor's shoulder with his tears. He's still trembling, and Connor just holds him. They don't speak, and Connor's fingers trace light patterns on Kevin's back, soothing him the only way he can think of when he's so sad. He longs to know the reason for so much fear; to try and help him in a way that would _actually_ help.

They listen to the thunderstorm, growing ever closer. The wind whips around them, but neither of them care for it. It's a long time before Kevin's sobs subside, but he doesn't let go. He holds onto Connor like a life preserver, and Connor just holds him back.

"'m sorry," Connor thinks he hears against his shoulder as the other man peels himself away.

His eyes are red and wet, his mouth pulled downwards as he kneels on the hard, dry ground. He leans back on his haunches, staring down at his hands hopelessly. Connor recognises how broken he is, and that this isn't the same man that came to Uganda. The same man who had so much hope in his heart for the future. He's been beaten and broken by circumstance, and whatever bravery he once had has been overridden by self-doubt, replaying a memory so often that it became a nightmare. 

"You have nothing to apologise for," Connor whispers, reaching for his hands and squeezing them, "You're allowed to be upset, and scared, and to be impacted by the things that happen to you."

Kevin stares at him with such fierceness for a moment that Connor thinks he's going to blurt it out, but it leaves him all at once as his cheeks heat up and he shakes his head to himself.

They don't get much warning before the entire sky lights up white. Connor doesn't think to count the seconds before the thunder cracks like a gunshot, and the rain comes pouring down.

"Oh my _gosh_ ," Connor yelps, leaping to his feet.

They're drenched in seconds and Connor's polo clings to him like a second skin. Kevin's eyes are wide, startled by the thunder, and Connor urges Kevin to get up so they can start for the village and get safe.

Instead, a slow smile forms on Kevin's lips. He closes his eyes and lifts his face to the rain.

Connor's hovering anxiously, only slightly concerned that they may get struck by lightning, and he's even more concerned about Kevin's new stitches which he was specifically told not to get wet.

"Come on, we should go!" he exclaims, but Kevin isn't paying attention to him anymore, or maybe he doesn't hear him over the deafening roar of the rain.

Somehow the storm had moved over them while they had been sitting there in the silence. Connor couldn't recall how much time had passed but it was obvious that it could've been close to an hour. He's being pelted with rain and it _stings_ , but Kevin's still just _sitting_ there, breathing it in. His chest is heaving and Connor thinks he's crying again, but it's not as hopeless as it was before.

The rain is beautiful, but with the ground as dry as it was, the rain simply runs over instead of sinking into the dirt. It's starting to fill the dam, the dark brown puddle indistinguishable from the water falling.

"Kevin!" Connor screeches.

Again, Kevin doesn't hear him, or maybe ignores him. Another bolt of lightning strikes in the distance and lights up the sky, and this time Connor manages to count it out, finding that he had grossly overestimated how close the storm actually was before - he had just been startled by how bright it got. They're probably not about to be struck down where they stand, but he still doesn't want to _be_ here, drenched and cold.

He's not leaving Kevin though.

Kevin, who looks like he's ready to sit there until the water washes him away. His breaths are slow and even now, and Connor moves closer to try and get his attention.

"Kevin, come _on."_

He finally takes notice, staring up and giving him a small smile. He hoists himself to his feet and he laughs, and Connor briefly wonders if maybe he's lost it.

Kevin takes his hand, and together they run.

~~~

Connor frowns as he kneels in front of the couch in the living quarters, patting Kevin's arm dry with a spare towel. He could do it himself, of course, but Kevin is quiet and back to being pensive... and if he's honest, Connor likes taking care of him. The rest of the boys are milling around too; kept inside because of the rain. Someone has made mass hot drinks, and a few of the others are playing the board games they keep in the cupboards. There's a quiet hum of restless energy, but nobody dares to complain about the rain. 

"I can't believe you stayed out there so long while it was raining," Thomas laughs quietly.

"I can't believe Kevin got his stitches wet ten minutes after being told not to," Connor grumbles quietly

"It'll be alright, won't it?" Kevin asks suddenly.

They're both showered and in dry clothes; hair falling about their faces because they haven't bothered to style them. 

"Now you ask," Connor murmurs, and he can't keep the fondness from his voice, "It'll be fine. Just try and keep it dry, okay? It's more likely to get infected if it's wet, and it won't heal as quickly."

Kevin nods, sitting back against the couch cushions. Connor's a little worried about him, but there's little he can do, and right now he's more worried about the way Church and Thomas are sitting on opposite sides of the room. Connor leaves Kevin's side to sit with Thomas on the floor, glancing over at him and contemplating the game of solitaire he's playing. 

"Is everything okay with you and Church?"

Thomas looks wounded as he glances over, before going back to his game, "I'd rather not talk about it."

"It didn't blow over, then?"

"Not exactly," he winces, shrugging, "I don't know how to apologise for wanting to show the world I love him."

"Love?"

Thomas frowns, questioning why Connor repeated it before he realises what he said, "Oh," he murmurs quietly, "I- I didn't..."

"You love him?"

"I...well, I guess so," he says, looking up across the room at Church, "Maybe five months is too soon to say it, or even think it..." he shrugs, "But I just do. I think that's why this little- whatever we're having, doesn't bother me. Because I know it's a non-issue. It'll be over soon, and we can go back to being together."

"That's...optimistic...and actually quite sweet," Connor murmurs, "Have you talked to him properly about what happened that night?"

"He doesn't want to talk about it," Thomas says with a small roll of his eyes, "Every time I bring it up, he shuts me down. But I think he's just afraid..."

Of what, Connor doesn't know, and he won't pry if Thomas isn't going to just give up the information. He doesn't even know if he can call them boyfriends in his head, and yet Thomas is confessing his love already? It's a strange relationship, albeit sweet, but it's one that has grown while Connor wasn't looking. Probably in Kampala, in fact. Which reminds him...

"You're off to Kampala tomorrow, aren't you?"

Thomas winces, "Yeah. I doubt he'll enjoy spending nine hours on the bus with me though..."

"Is it that bad?"

"He refuses to talk to me," Thomas chuckles, "So we either make up by tomorrow, or someone else should go."

His words give Connor an idea, and his eyes widen, "...Kevin and I could go instead?"

Thomas' eyebrows rise and a smirk starts to grow on his face, but Connor shuts him down quickly.

"No, no...not like that. It's just- the news about the General has freaked him out a little. It might be a good idea to get him out of here for a week, give him some distance and let him clear his head without having to constantly look over his shoulder."

"You know, that's not such a bad idea," Thomas says, nodding slowly, "It will give James and I a chance to talk as well."

Connor repays him with his own smirk, "Just talk?"

"Shut up," Thomas shoves him with a laugh, "Though now that you mention it...you'll be away for a week, and the beds are surprisingly big and comfortable when they're pushed together..."

"Noo!" Connor whines softly, careful the other boys don't overhear, "I swear to god, Chris Thomas, if you have sex on my bed I'm never forgiving you."

They erupt into quiet giggles and Connor shoves him gently, using the leverage to push himself up from the ground. Kevin's still on the couch, but at least he's engaged in conversation with Arnold now. Three of the boys play Monopoly in the corner, while Zelder and Church play what looks like jacks on the dining table.

The rain is still pouring outside and Connor spares a thought for their roofing, hoping it's leakproof. On that thought, he ducks his head into each room, checking the floors for damp patches.

"Chris just told me you'd be going to Kampala tomorrow."

Connor's in his own room, staring up at the roof suspiciously. The wood looks darker than usual and he was investigating, but he turns when he hears Church speak behind him.

"If that's okay with you," Connor says softly, "He said it probably wasn't going to be a fun trip, with the two of you not talking to each other."

Church matches his gaze for a long moment, before he glances away. Connor's noticed his collar is down again, the hickeys a lot less noticeable now. He wonders how much Neeley has harassed him about it, but he feels that Church wouldn't let it bother him.

"Do you want to talk about... you and Poptarts?" Connor offers softly, head tilting curiously.

"No," Church murmurs, but he continues on anyway, "It's stupid. I'm being a little stupid, I know. But I'm in too deep."

Connor's eyes widen, "What?"

He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning against the doorframe, "I just...saw the marks he left and freaked out. I overreacted...I know nobody here cares. I know we could be together in the public eye. We practically were, before..."

"... Why don't you tell him?"

"Pride?" Church shrugs, before he pauses and steps further into the room, mouth tight, "No. I'm scared, I guess. Scared of things going so well that I'm looking for any opportunity to just... run."

"...because of your own parents?"

"I guess. I mean, I don't guess- I know that's what it is. My therapist and I went through it enough. He's...an incredible man, Connor, and I want him so badly it hurts sometimes. But...sometimes I think about our future together and being with him and it hurts even more because I don't want either of us to get hurt."

Connor's heart tugs painfully and he nods slowly, brows furrowed in concern, "You and I both know you wouldn't hurt him."

"Already have," Church shrugs, "I don't mean physically. I come from a household where fists aren't the worst weapon you have at your disposal. And I'm sitting here emotionally manipulating him into feeling guilty about his outward affection for me...and there's not a thing I can do about it because I'm so... afraid..."

It sounds like a rock and a hard place. Complex emotions and conflicting feelings that Connor doesn't know how to deal with. It's strange, getting to see both sides of the coin, "What are you most afraid of?"

Church is quiet for a moment, "Two things," he finally says, "That I'm not going to be.. right for him. That our relationship isn't going to be- perfect, you know?" he swallows thickly, "And that I'm going to ruin it all by being _this_ version of myself. This...coward."

"Hey, don't say that," Connor soothes quietly. "You know, it sounds like you've been thinking about this a lot," Connor observes softly, "...I don't mean to sound insensitive, but do you think you might be overthinking it, just a little?"

Church raises an eyebrow at him.

"You came from a home that was crumbling around you," he says quietly, "So you look at relationships differently. You can only see where you cause pain for both yourself and for Chris. I think that Chris does the opposite - he looks for where he can create love, and happiness. I don't think he's sitting there thinking about how you're...'emotionally manipulating' him. I think he's just waiting for you to let him talk, so you can work through it together. I think...fear is a natural, healthy part of life," he murmurs, before stealing a page from Sondheim's book, "But...you can't be afraid that it won't be perfect. It probably won't be, and that's okay. Our mission wasn't perfect, and we still survived. The only real thing to be afraid of is that it won't _be._ "

Church's arms are folded and he's staring at the ground, a deep frown on his face. Connor wonders if he's overstepped, but Church just shrugs.

"Yeah," he murmurs, before looking up, "Have fun in Kampala. The room's booked already, and I'll leave you with the cameras and the instructions for the blog. Make sure you type up the new stories and add the photos. You can work a computer, right?"

Connor nods, worried, because he _has_ overstepped, and Church probably feels uncomfortable, "Yeah. We'll be fine, I promise."

"Okay, good," he says, and then offers him the barest of smiles, "Um, thanks, Connor."

Connor tries not to sigh with relief, "Anytime."

He watches Church leave the room, turning around to inspect the roof again, but he can't really focus. He doesn't know when he became the group therapist, but he figures it was about when he became the District Leader of this little group. There have been so many past conversations between himself and his missionaries, but none of them have felt so pivotal, and so _heavy._ Did he ever say the right thing? Did he overstep, had he helped them? Did the previous conversations with the other boys, discussing fears and hopes and futures, have so much weight to them? More importantly, had Connor just not noticed before?

Everyone's a little bit broken, he sees. Not just Kevin. Church and his fear of hurting the people closest to him just by existing. Thomas with his desperation to love because there was a time when he didn't and now he regrets it. He wonders if he's broken a little bit, too. His fixation on helping and comforting others, was it because his own family didn't love him unconditionally?

"McKinley?"

He's glad someone else has pulled him from his thoughts, unable to continue down that thought train. He turns to see Zelder, who fixes him with a big smile.

"The rain has stopped, so we're all going to go for a walk and see if there's any damages. Wanna come?"

The task will stop him from thinking too hard, and he smiles at Zelder gratefully.

"Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sister is cool. Just so you all know. (also guess who is thinking about a cheeky scoot across the ocean to NZ for more BoM?? Yes, I hate myself too.)


	6. kampala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Non-explicit recounts of sexual abuse (blink and you miss it). Panic Attacks. Nightmares. Cute boys.
> 
> I've been stupidly nervous about posting this and I couldn't tell you why... oh well. Enjoy??

Connor hasn't really seen Kampala yet.

The bus had passed through from Entebbe Airport when they first arrived, but Connor had been napping, maybe blinking awake briefly when Poptarts had exclaimed loudly at all of the things around them.

Now he settles into the bus seat, the metal beneath him uncomfortably cold as it digs into the back of his thighs. Kevin sits beside him, their suitcases safely in the storage compartment and a backpack with their valuables stored under the seat in front of him.

"Are you sure Thomas and Church are definitely okay with this?" Kevin asks softly, shifting and trying to get comfortable. He's still hyperaware of his stitches, half-cradling his arm sometimes as he moves around. 

The narrow seats force them to sit close to each other, thighs and knees pressed together. Connor's slightly squished against the window and he's really too tall for this space but he doesn't mind that much. He might, in six hours, but for now it's fine.

"I'm sure. I spoke with both of them," he explains.

Kevin nods slowly, glancing over at him, "You didn't drag me out here just because of...my freak-out yesterday, right?"

Connor side-eyes him, choosing his words delicately, "I think that it's a good idea for us both to have a break from everything that's going on."

Kevin scoffs but smiles, not that upset with Connor's diplomatic and slightly patronising answer. He leans back against the seat and closes his eyes, his neck curved at an off angle with his head hanging off the top. 

"Are you gonna fall asleep on me two minutes in?" Connor asks as the bus lurches forward. He braces himself on the seat in front and hits his knees but Kevin is completely unprepared and cries out as he almost falls from his seat.

"Maybe not if things like that are going to happen..." he mumbles, getting a grip on the seat in front of him before closing his eyes again, "What did you do on the trip to Kitguli?"

"Slept, a little. Re-read passages from the Book. Brushed up on the Missionary Handbook," Connor says, thinking, "Oh, and I went over the files of all the people that would be joining us."

"You read my file?" Kevin asks curiously, but Connor waves him off.

"Your name, date of birth, emergency contact information, blood type and allergies. Stuff like that," he explains quietly, "Not like, where you went to school and what you wanted to be when you grew up."

Kevin laughs at him, "Kinda weird that you know my blood type and I don't know yours."

" _Is_ that weird?" Connor asks, and Kevin makes a face at him, "O negative."

Kevin blinks in surprise, "That's the universal one, right?"

Connor nods, "I give blood whenever I can- or, at least, I did. Before the mission. But I'll keep doing it when we return to the states."

"I've never donated," Kevin admits, "And...I don't actually know my blood type. I'd love to know how they found out to put it on my file..."

Connor snickers, "B negative, if you're curious."

"You actually memorized that?"

"Hey," Connor says indignantly, "I'm a good District Leader. I know my boys."

"Your boys, hm?"

Connor flushes, because he didn't really mean to say it out loud. It's the affectionate term he gives them in his head but would never say to their faces. Until now, apparently. Kevin makes him too comfortable, clearly.

"Uh, yep," he manages, because there's nothing he can say to dig him out of this hole. 

"I think Connor and the Mormons is a pretty good band name, actually," Kevin says thoughtfully, steamrolling over his embarrassment, "But Mormons would be spelt with a z. Mormonz." 

"Mormonz? Why are we a band?"

"Because we're your boyz. With a z."

Connor giggles softly, "Remind me to invest when we get back to the States."

Kevin nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and they lapse into silence. The bus jostles them around and between staring out the window at the trees and dirt that passes by, Connor briefly wonders what Thomas and Church do on the long journey. Well. Maybe he'd rather not know, actually.

"Oh," he remembers, pulling the backpack up and fishing around in it to find the instructions from Thomas. His neat handwriting is hard to read against the dark recycled paper and Connor squints to make it out, "Thomas left us this to help with the blog."

Kevin leans in so much that Connor can feel his hair resting on his shoulder. He tries not to stiffen, tries not to be weird. Kevin's just getting a closer look, that's all. Connor stares at the paper intensely but he sees nothing but blurred writing, unable to focus with Kevin so close. He can smell his hair, sharp and sweet and vaguely fruity, mixed with body spray and deodorant, but something also uniquely _him._

It only gets worse when he feels the weight of Kevin's head settle comfortably on his shoulder.

"You're comfy," Kevin murmurs.

"I think my shoulders have been described as bony before, but never comfortable," Connor blurts, forgetting how to be smooth or cool or flirty and simply going for facts.

"Nah. They're perfect," Kevin murmurs, "Is...this okay?"

"Yep," he replies too quickly, and he swallows thickly and takes a breath and reminds himself to just relax. They're _friends_.

It's not long before Kevin's breaths start to get deeper and longer, and Connor wonders if he's having trouble sleeping at night. Maybe he's just a good traveller. Connor relaxes, now that he's not thinking that Kevin is questioning his every move, and shifts ever so slightly so he can get comfortable too. Without meaning to he turns his head just slightly, letting the brown locks of Kevin's hair brush against his face slightly, breathing a little deeper. It relaxes him, being this close, and for a moment he pretends that this is it - his future with Kevin laid out before him and it feels so real and perfect that his heart hurts for a moment knowing that it probably could never be like this. 

Perfect, until the bus jostles and he's thrown against the window and he remembers that there are a smattering of other people on this bus that might not be okay with two boys snoozing together. Miraculously Kevin stays asleep against his shoulder despite the pothole, and Connor focuses on the passage of instructions in front of him.

It's going to be a long trip.

~~~

"Holy shit," Kevin murmurs as he stares out the window.

Connor is stiff. He hasn't moved in what feels like the entire time Kevin's been asleep, hunched against him, "Good evening, Sleeping Beauty,"

Kevin beams at him, looking well rested, and looks past him out the window again, "Kampala is beautiful."

Connor's been staring out the window since they left. He's watched the landscape change from the dry, dusty, dilapidated (and any other d-words he can think of) houses and long plains of red dirt to the bustling city. The roads were a better quality here, paved and sealed, so the latter part of their trip has been a lot smoother. It's a completely different world to the one they came from, and he has to admit that after five months, the modern society makes him ache for his old life.

"It is," he agrees, watching a multitude of bikes go past, tilting his head.

It's more populated than he expected, and while it reminds him of any small city, there's also something incredibly _Ugandan_ about it that makes it feel that little bit more familiar. The signs are mostly in another language, but he's studied enough Swahili to get the gist. Everything is the same; clothing stores, fast food chains, corner shops and more. 

They stare out of the window until the bus pulls up at their stop in the middle of the city centre. Connor gathers up the backpack and leads the way off the bus, waiting for the driver to get their suitcases. Once they're in the clean, fresh air and the bus has pulled away, Connor takes a deep breath and looks around.

Kevin smiles at him brightly, tucking his suitcase a little closer to him and looking around, "Alright, where is this hotel?"

"Umm," Connor finds the instructions and the crude map Thomas had scrawled for him that morning, squinting at the street names to get his bearings, "Here, down this street. It's not far."

Kevin follows him, distracted by the hundreds of things around them and lagging behind a little. Connor doesn't mind; he's only slightly lost, but a few streets later they arrive at the hotel. It's fancier than Connor thought it would be, towering above them boasting bold red and black branding. He had expected a hostel - somewhere with free wifi and just a bed, maybe a shared bathroom. Not this.

Kevin's eyes widen hungrily as he spots a café at the base of the hotel with a coffee cup on the front, "I think I'm gonna like it here." 

Connor snickers, "Is coffee really that good?"

Kevin glances over with a wicked smirk, "You haven't tried it yet? Oh Connor. Just you wait. I can't wait to pop your coffee-cherry..."

Connor laughs loudly, half scoffing at the crass phrase. He can feel his cheeks heating up, but he has to admit, he's intrigued.

"Well I'm glad I've got someone experienced for my first time," he shoots back with an exaggerated wink, biting his lip coyly.

"Aw, don't worry. I'll take care of you; we'll go slow," he promises, and the two of them laugh before heading inside.

Connor's proud of himself for keeping his cool while they were flirting... or just bantering? Was flirting just banter when there was supposed to be no love interest? He's not sure. Whatever it was, it was fun and light and he didn't make a fool of himself, or get embarrassed, so he's counting it as a win.

Checking in doesn't take long and they're given two room keys. Connor leads the way through the long hallways lined with mirrors and pot plants and Kevin presses the button for their floor when they get to the elevator.

"This is...pretty fancy," Kevin says softly as they wait, "Feels like a different world compared to where we came from."

Connor nods, "I was thinking the same thing when we were coming in on the bus. Kitguli is so...unestablished, compared to the other villages, and Kampala in comparison...well, it's almost incomparable."

"Do you think we can change that?"

"I don't know. On one hand they seem to appreciate the simplicity. But I think that things could be so much easier for them if they embraced a few more modern upgrades..."

Kevin shrugs lightly, stepping into the elevator when the doors slide open, "I suppose we can only make suggestions and let them make their own decisions. But I think we're on the right track. Getting more reliable electricity and better equipment for the hospital and the village centre is the goal."

Connor nods, "Exactly," he hums, stepping out of the elevator on the fifth floor. He consults the key and finds their room. With a beep, the door unlocks and Connor pushes it open.

His eyes widen as he takes in the room- the _apartment_ that he's just walked into.

"Uhh..." he murmurs, stepping in further and looking around.

"Church and Poptarts really went all out, didn't they?"

The door opens to a short hallway. Immediately to the left is the bathroom, the clean white tiles gleaming at them from the open doorway. The hallway leads to a modest living area; two couches and a TV with a kitchenette in the corner. Against the opposite wall are large windows and a door to the balcony that overlooks the town. Connor steps through in awe until he reaches the bedroom; one room with twin beds on opposite sides of the room.

"It's beautiful," Kevin murmurs, stepping past Connor and brushing against him as he goes. He flops onto the bed closest to the far wall, keeping his injured arm free and groaning indecently when he hits the mattress, "Do we ever have to leave?"

"Unfortunately so. Enjoy it while we're here," Connor says with a laugh, watching him for a moment, "I'm going to go charge the laptop."

He returns to the living room and pulls out the second-hand laptop from the bag, plugging it into the wall and making sure the little lights all go on before relaxing against the couch. He can hear Kevin moving around inside the bedroom and after a few moments he emerges.

"I...am going to have a shower," Kevin tells him, walking into the room with his clothes clutched under his arm, "I'm hoping the water pressure is good," he says, before pausing, "You know, maybe we should rotate everyone into coming out here for a week."

Connor turns his head to look at him, nodding thoughtfully, "Yeah. I think that's a good idea. It'll give everyone a break."

"Definitely, They deserve it," Kevin hums, before disappearing into the bathroom. It's only a few minutes later that Connor hears the water running, and he tries desperately not to think about the fact that Kevin is naked and showering behind that door.

To distract himself, he reaches for the laptop, hoping it's charged enough to survive being turned on. It slowly opens to the pages they need and he refreshes them all, curiously scrolling through the blog posts and comments. He consults Thomas' instructions before going through and tirelessly liking the new comments, replying to interesting questions and bringing up the official emails they've been exchanging with their sponsors.

He's familiar with the names and roles now, having sat with Church and Thomas after each of their trips to go through anything new they need to be aware of. Sometimes in response, they record cheesy videos of them thanking their biggest donators, or doing dares that were given by their fans. Embarrassingly enough, most of the requests are ploys to get the boys to take their shirts off, but the worst part is that it works most of the time.

They don't always have to go all the way into Kampala either, and sometimes the trips are much shorter as they head out to a nearby village that's in better range of the towers. It works most of the time if they're only updating text posts, but the internet is more reliable in Kampala for uploading photos and videos, and the electricity is less expensive to charge the laptop. 

Once Connor has finished replying and copying their requests onto a word document for printing later, he hooks up the cameras to start downloading the photos and leans back against the cushions with a sigh.

The bathroom door opens not long after and Kevin comes out, his hair wet and flopping over his forehead.

"It's so much better than our shower," he declares, "You should really, really get into that. I recommend it. This place is getting a twelve star review simply for having pressure."

Connor laughs, curling one leg under him, "In a second, I'm just downloading photos."

"I'll look after it," Kevin promises, "Just go. You'll feel a hundred times better being _actually_ clean. In fact, I didn't realise I was dirty _until_ I just got clean."

Connor wonders if Kevin's secretly trying to tell him something, but the excitement over the shower has Connor laughing instead.

 _"_ Alright, fine," he chuckles, getting to his feet and heading back to the bedroom. He finds a change of clothes, making sure Kevin is okay with the equipment before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

_~~~_

The shower _is_ good. Connor feels like the dirt from the last five months has finally been scrubbed off, his hair is clean and he almost feels like a new man.

When he leaves the bathroom, he finds Kevin sitting cross-legged on the couch, laptop on his lap. He has Thomas' papers on one knee, glancing at them occasionally as he transcribes a blog post. His brow is ever so slightly furrowed as he concentrates and Connor just takes a moment to watch him, taking in the strong lines of his profile, and the tiny wrinkles in his brow. His hair is still damp, adorably half in his eyes and Connor suppresses a smile as he turns towards the kitchen.

"We need to go grocery shopping for the week soon too," Connor calls over his shoulder, and Kevin grunts back at him. Connor suspects he isn't listening, so instead he pokes through the cupboards. There's pots and pans and cutlery and little reminders here and there to not use too much water, and to recycle responsibly, "And we'll schedule a trip on the last day so we can take the supplies back to the boys."

Kevin just mumbles at him again and Connor chuckles softly, going back to his room to find his bag and a notebook. It's the one he brought on the plane over but never bothered to write in, and once he finds a pen he starts to write a list.

They have five full days, three meals a day, plus dinner tonight, and breakf-

"What are you doing?"

Connor looks up from where he's hunched over the counter, scribbling away furiously.

"Figuring out what we need to get for the rest of the week, so we can cook dinners and make sure we have enough for lunches."

"Not fish, please," Kevin requests, stepping over to the counter, "You know, I don't know why Church and Thomas spend a week here. I'm almost done typing up the first post - I'll let you go over it when I'm done and then we can post. There's only like, five more." 

"Maybe they're slow at typing?" Connor suggests.

"Yeah, or maybe they're up to a lot more than they let on," Kevin says with a cheeky grin.

"Maybe," Connor says, wrinkling his nose with a soft giggle.

Kevin's more relaxed here, Connor finds. More likely to crack jokes, to be himself a little more. But then again, Connor finds himself feeling the same. He feels safe here, enclosed and secure. He doesn't have to worry about the next meal because he could just go down to the café if they're too lazy to cook. He's almost guilty that he wants to rely on those simple pleasures; a product of his upbringing, and a bitter understanding of the village he's come from.

"We should definitely go out for dinner some nights," Kevin continues, taking Connor's pen and writing that down as well, "I want some of the fine Kampala cuisine."

"I think you'll find it's probably pretty similar to what we ate in Kitguli, just not prepared by nineteen year old's who don't know how to cook over a fire."

Kevin nods slowly, "Well... I also saw a steakhouse on our way in. So..."

Connor rolls his eyes fondly, "Fine. We can eat out sometimes. But just keep the budget in mind."

"Budget's fine," Kevin murmurs, continuing to hijack Connor's list, "So what do you want to cook? How are you going to impress me with your cooking prowess?"

Connor snorts, "If I have to cook, I want some of your bulk rice-pasta dishes."

"Done," Kevin says, flipping to a new page and writing out an ingredients list.

They throw ideas back and forth for meals, choosing the days they're going to go out for dinner and where they might go. It feels wrong, in a way - enjoying themselves while the rest of their friends are back in Kitguli. He's glad they had chosen to rotate them instead. But then he can't help but think of the rest of the villagers who didn't have this opportunity. Maybe they could rotate some of the villagers out here as well?

"You alright there?"

"Yeah," Connor says, shaking his head lightly, "Fine. Okay, so we have the food, and we'll spend the week updating the blog..."

"...and then we have to go back to Kitguli."

There's too much sadness in that one sentence, and Connor watches him for a moment. He doesn't want to say it, but he thinks he has to.

"Kevin," he says softly, serious as he looks over at him, "You don't have to come back."

Kevin looks up at him sharply.

"Our missions are over. We're not doing this for our faith anymore. We're doing this for us. And if it's not what you want, or if it's something that...isn't making you happy anymore, you don't have to do it. Nobody will begrudge you for it. You can go back to your family and...start your life away from the Church."

Kevin's shaking his head before he even finishes talking, "No," he says resolutely, "That's not what I want at all. I'm happy. I know I don't seem like it, but I'm genuinely happy here."

Connor tilts his head, staying quiet. He's found it's a good tool to keep people talking.

Like a charm, Kevin's sighing and continuing, "The work keeps me distracted," he admits, "Helping the people in the village has given me purpose I thought I'd lost when-" he cuts himself off out of habit now, "And... I can't help but worry I'm going to go back to the States and I won't be better, you know? That I'll still get scared and have panic attacks and at least here, you guys know what happened. You won't ever think I'm just...overreacting."

"Yeah," Connor says quietly, "I understand. It's just...even here you seem a lot better, happier."

Kevin stares down at the counter for a moment before he gazes up at Connor from under his eyelashes, "Do you want me to go?"

"No," he says too quickly, "I don't want you to go. At all," he says gently, "I just don't want you to be unhappy or...scared. I care about you, you know?"

A tiny smile grows on Kevin's face as he looks up at Connor, "You just let me know when I become a giant buzzkill, alright?"

"I don't think you could ever be a buzzkill," Connor says, taking the pen back and looking through his list again.

He can feel Kevin's eyes on him but he doesn't look up, simply staring at the list and trying to go through it. It's distracting though, and he reads "beef meatballs" three times before he turns away to get himself a glass of water.

It doesn't taste brown, and he resolves to drink as much of it as he can in the following week.

When he turns back around, Kevin is thankfully looking back down at the notebook again.

~~~

Connor staggers into their room, carrying so many bags that he half drops them in the doorway. Behind him, Kevin somehow juggles his own handful of bags, as well as two take-away coffees in a tray. How it's not pulling at his stitches, Connor doesn't know, and he's worried about the answer if he asks.

"I forgot how annoying shopping is," Connor comments, "And how many choices there are."

Kevin nods, "Luckily I never had to shop. My mom looked after it all online and we got it delivered."

"Aw, but then there's no excuse for impulse buying," Connor says, "That's the best part about shopping. Budgeting $50 for necessities and spending an extra $30 on the little chocolates at the check-out."

Connor dumps the bags on the kitchen counter, sorting through them for the fridge-bound items. When he turns around, Kevin is staring at him expectantly, holding one of the coffee cups and sliding the other towards him.

"Am I going to enjoy this?"

"Probably," Kevin nods, "I got them to put like three sugars in there. It's usually bitter. Really bitter. But it's not the taste that's important; it's the buzz."

"You sound like someone addicted to coffee,"

"Just try it," he urges.

Connor rolls his eyes and lifts the coffee lid to his lips, taking a short sip. It burns his tongue and he can focus on nothing else as he wrinkles his nose, hissing in protest.

"Oops. These cups keep them pretty warm, but you kind of get used to that too," Kevin says, taking a long sip of his own and releasing a satisfied sigh.

"Mm," Connor grumbles, still worrying his sore tongue against his teeth. He blows against the tiny opening, hoping to cool it down.

Finally, after many impatient looks from Kevin, he takes a sip he can actually taste.

He can't help his wince.

"Ugh," he mumbles, shaking his head and putting the cup back down. It's somehow both sickeningly sweet but bitter at the same time.

"Don't judge it by your first taste," Kevin says defensively, "Just...sip it over time. It'll get better, I promise."

"Pretty sure you promised that it would taste good to begin with," Connor grumbles, but he takes another sip. It's not great the second time either and he sighs.

"Just- trust me," Kevin says, heading to the fridge, "We should actually start cooking dinner, now, so you can drink it while we cook."

"Alriiight," Connor says, not convinced. Kevin seems to be enjoying his though, guzzling it down like water.

They cook together, and Connor enjoys the domesticity of it all. He teaches Kevin little tips he knows, and they brush up against each other, leaning around to grab different things. It's nice, and it's fun, and by the time he reaches the end of his cup, Connor doesn't actually mind the coffee.

They sit on the couch as they eat and Connor reads over the blog post, making a few corrections and adding the new photos before posting. The flood of responses is immediate, likes and comments that they laugh at and reply to. Their shoulders are pressed together as they read, and every single interaction sends a little thrill down Connor's spine. It could also be the coffee, but he's not complaining either way.

As the clock ticks over to 9pm, Connor yawns for the first time and they both agree to call it a night. It's behaviour leftover from their missionary days; going to bed at the same time because staying together was more important than staying up, but Connor also thinks Kevin looks tired too.

They get changed into their pyjamas, and Connor contemplates the alarm clock that sits on the bedside table between their beds, "Um, how opposed are you to us not bothering to set an alarm, and just waking up whenever?"

"Not opposed at all," Kevin beams.

Connor nods, leaving the clock and sliding into his bed. The sheets are a good thread count, and he's _comfortable_ and he breathes a soft sigh of relief. Glancing over, he sees Kevin mirroring the same look, and he grins over at him.

"Goodnight," Kevin murmurs softly, "And thanks for dragging me out here."

"You're welcome," Connor replies quietly, reaching for the light switch, "Sweet dreams, Kevin."

~~~

Connor's eyes open in fear. 

A shout had woken him, and his stomach twists anxiously, heart racing as he sits up. The room is pitch black aside from the light of the clock and he tries to figure out what happened when he hears a whimper from the other side of the room.

It's just Kevin, and he heaves a sigh of relief, squinting at the time. Eleven. They haven't been asleep long, then. There's something about waking up with a start, his heart not quite calming down.

"Get away-"

Kevin's voice is clipped and afraid, and Connor realises quickly that it's a nightmare. A violent one, too. Kevin thrashes beneath his sheets, gasping in what sounds like pain.

"Kevin- hey, Kevin," Connor murmurs, swinging his legs off the bed, "You're okay."

"Get off- Get off me!"

"Shh, Kevin, you're fine, I'm here, it's just me," Connor pleads softly, sitting on the edge of his bed and reaching out to touch his shoulder. Kevin twists away from him, crying out before he wakes up. He goes still, before jerking away again in surprise, disoriented and confused, "It's just me, Kevin. Breathe."

He's almost hyperventilating, heat radiating off his body. He's drenched in sweat and Connor wants to get up and get him some water, but he's too afraid of leaving him.

"Fuck," Kevin whispers, and suddenly the tremors start, and he's shaking so much Connor's actually scared it might be some sort of seizure, "Fuck, fuck...holy fuck."

"Breathe," Connor reminds him, finding his hand and squeezing it, "It's just a nightmare. You're safe, in Kampala with me. Nobody else. We're here."

Connor leans over to turn on the light, and he sees just how pale Kevin is, his eyes glassy and glazed over. The light seems to help though. Kevin's eyes slowly start to focus, darting around as he takes in the rest of the room. He sucks in a deep breath like he's only just remembered that oxygen is important and he swallows thickly, before finally letting his eyes settle on Connor.

He opens his mouth, but Connor beats him to it.

"If you try and apologise to me right now Kevin Price, I will beat you with your own pillow."

It surprises him and Kevin manages to choke out a soft laugh, and his fists clench slightly as he nods, "Okay," he whispers.

"I'm going to get you some water, alright?"

"No," he grips Connor's hand tighter, "No, please. Not- not yet."

Connor nods slowly, moving onto the bed further so he isn't half-hanging off the edge, "Do you get nightmares often?"

Kevin nods back at him but doesn't elaborate, still breathing deeply.

"Is it okay if I keep asking questions?"

A nod spurs him on.

"Does Arnold usually help you through them?"

Another nod and a whisper, "Mostly," 

"Are they about the General?"

Kevin pauses, before nodding again.

"What seems to help? What stops them from happening?"

"It's only been the last two nights," he whispers, "Since we found out he was back in the area."

Connor nods slowly, "Did you have them before?"

"When it first happened, it was almost every night. But they'd started to ease..."

"I think it's natural to relapse when something triggers your anxiety like that."

"You don't need to make it sound so clinical," Kevin murmurs tiredly, letting go of Connor's hand and huffing softly, running his hands through his hair, "You can tell me I'm a mess, I won't be offended."

"You're far too concerned about what other people think of you," Connor murmurs softly, "You're not a mess. You're just working through it."

Kevin nods, going quiet, "Um, do you mind grabbing that water for me now, please?"

"Yeah, of course," Connor springs up, padding barefoot to the kitchen. He gets the glass as quickly as he can, not wanting to leave Kevin alone for too long.

When he returns, Kevin is sitting cross-legged on the bed, and he takes the cup from Connor with a soft thanks.

He pats the bed in front of him, glancing up at Connor pleadingly, "I... I want to tell you what happened."

Connor looks down at him in surprise, crawling onto the bed in front of him and crossing his legs as well, "You don't have to, Kevin. It's really okay if you don't want to."

"I want to," Kevin says firmly, "I just...give me time, okay?" 

"Of course," Connor murmurs, finding his hand again, "Take as much as you need."

Kevin nods, thinking for a moment before he reaches over to turn the lights off.

It's there in the darkness that he starts talking, starting from when he left the missionary hut after the villager had been killed in front of him. He explains the lead-up in detail, recalling every feeling, thought and action. His naivety and his stupidity when confronting the General, and how much he wished that he had just turned around and listened to Arnold.

He tells Connor exactly what the General did to him.

As he talks, his voice breaks and he dissolves into sobs, and Connor holds him so tightly he's afraid of breaking him. It's something that Connor can't believe he managed to endure in silence for so long, wishing he knew earlier so he could've comforted him better. Kevin clings to him tightly and sobs against his chest, but Connor has no words for him. There's nothing he can say to make it better, to ease any of the pain that Kevin feels. He can only imagine the flashbacks and the fear and the nightmares.

They don't move even after Kevin's tears have dried.

"Sor-"

"Don't," Connor whispers, "No apologising," he reminds him, and Connor hadn't realised he was on the verge of tears himself until that moment. Tears of anger, maybe, of indescribable rage for the man that violated his best friend, who was still walking around without consequence.

"I just- I mean, sorry for just dumping-"

"No," Connor says more firmly, " _Thank you_ ," he says quietly, "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I can't imagine how hard that was."

Kevin doesn't reply, he's just quiet, but he's still clinging to Connor so he hopes he hasn't offended him.

"'knew you wouldn't judge me," Kevin murmurs after another long moment, "It was easier to tell you because- you wouldn't try and make me feel better with some- joke or...something to break the tension. Just- thank you, for listening."

Connor wraps his arms around him a little tighter, leaning his cheek against Kevin's forehead, "I'm here if you ever want to talk about it. No matter when, no matter what."

Kevin melts against him, breathing deeply, "You're the only other person who knows- besides Gotswana, of course. He uh- helped."

Everything starts to make more sense now. The aversion to hospitals, and Gotswana's empathy for him.

"You haven't told Arnold?"

"...he wouldn't understand. He'd ask too many questions that I wouldn't want to answer..."

Connor nods, "Yeah...yeah, maybe that's a good call."

They fall into silence again, and finally Kevin pulls away. He takes a shaky breath, and he prods Connor gently so he can move past him and get up, heading back into the bathroom.

Connor turns the light back on and sits with the information, reeling. He can only think of how resilient Kevin is, how he's managed to come this far. No wonder he was changed when he came back. No wonder he's so strong. It took strength to fake that smile every day, to pretend he was okay all this time while battling with those memories.

"Um," Kevin starts when he comes back to the room. He's washed his face, his eyes still red and puffy but dry, "Feel free to say no, because I'd understand, but..." he hesitates, almost on the verge of not saying it before he continues, "Would it be okay if we pushed the beds together tonight? I just...don't think I could lay there alone with my own thoughts and-"

"Of course it's fine," Connor says, getting to his feet and pulling the bedside table away.

Together they push Connor's bed until it's pressed up against Kevin's. Connor takes a minute to rearrange the sheets so the beds stay together, and he hopes it holds all night. Waking up in a gap isn't going to be a fun time for either of them.

It's well after midnight by the time they climb back into bed, and they lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling once the light is off.

For a minute, both of them are uncomfortably awkward. Connor can feel it in the tiny space between their shoulders and he doesn't know how to resolve it. Sleeping this close doesn't mean anything and he knows that; he doesn't want it to. Kevin needs him right now, and it's all he cares about.

Luckily, Kevin figures it out and finds his hand in the dark, squeezing it and shifting a little closer so their shoulders are pressed together.

"Thank you," Kevin murmurs quietly.

He sounds drained of all energy, emotionally exhausted from letting himself be vulnerable in front of Connor.

"You don't need to keep saying that, either," Connor whispers back, "But you're still welcome."

Kevin manages a short laugh, rolling onto his side and pressing his forehead against Connor's shoulder, deflating against him. He curls his arm around Connor's, clinging to him, "This okay?"

"Yeah," Connor murmurs softly, letting Kevin have his arm, still holding his hand as well.

Kevin sighs contently around a soft yawn, "Goodnight, times two."

"Goodnight."

~~~

This time when Connor wakes, it's mid-morning.

The sun is straining to get past the curtains in the bedroom, bright around the edges, but the room is still mostly dark.

Connor's arm has gone numb where it's under Kevin, and he stiffens when he's aware of exactly how Kevin is draped across him. One of Kevin's arms is around his waist, tucked in tightly against his hip. His face is still pressed against his shoulder, the rest of his body and legs pressed tightly against Connor's side. He spares a brief thought for Kevin's stitches, but they're safe on the arm around his waist.

It should feel awkward. Connor should be stressed about the situation he's found himself in; mortified that they've woken up so close...but he doesn't.

Maybe he's still in the throes of sleep. Maybe that's why. But for a moment, everything just feels right. Kevin is warm and the weight of him against Connor's side is comforting, and Connor could get used to it, if he's honest.

Kevin mumbles in his sleep and it's incredibly endearing, so Connor makes a soft noise in response. He manages to lift his head to see the time, finding it just past ten in the morning. It's later than they've ever slept in while they were in Kitguli, but after the night they had, Connor doesn't mind. They deserve the sleep in.

Connor lays there for another few minutes, just enjoying the brain-fog of the morning, before Kevin starts to stir beside him. He pinpoints the very second he wakes up by the way his body goes very still, probably taking in his position, before he relaxes again.

"Morning," Connor murmurs quietly.

"Good morning," Kevin breathes back, rubbing his face against Connor's shoulder.

His fingers uncurl from where they're fisted in the fabric of Connor's singlet, rolling onto his back instead. He's close enough that their shoulders are still touching, but Connor misses his warmth, grumbling quietly.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks softly.

"Surprisingly so," Kevin replies, "I mean, maybe not surprisingly. I think you were the primary factor in that."

"You think sleeping next to each other helped?"

"Definitely."

"I don't mind...doing it again, if you want? Especially if it helps?" Connor winces to himself. He didn't mean 'especially'.

Kevin doesn't seem to notice his gaffe, nodding, "Yeah. Just as long as you don't mind. I think I slept better last night than I have in a while."

"It could also be the comfy beds," Connor points out.

"Maybe," Kevin shrugs, "But I don't think so."

It fills Connor with a warm glow and he can't help his smile, stretching out, "We should think about breakfast. I'm starving, and I don't feel like the cereal we bought."

"Pancakes," Kevin murmurs absently, "I think I want pancakes."

"Yes," Connor nods, "That's actually exactly what I want."

He summons the energy to get to his feet, reaching up to stretch again. When he looks back to Kevin he looks sweet and comfortable, his lids heavy as he just watches Connor. Something has changed, overnight. It was their conversation, Connor knows, but he never realised the impact that it would have on their relationship. They're closer now; a line was crossed that they hadn't even stepped close to before.

In the kitchen, they work together quietly to mix the pancake batter. Connor's hyperaware of every touch, and maybe it's just his imagination, but he thinks that Kevin's finding more excuses to make contact today. He doesn't mind; if Kevin needs the closeness, then he's all too happy to provide it.

"Have you ever tried pancake art?" Connor asks out of the blue, the silence just a little too much.

"Pancake art?"

"When you draw pictures using the pancake batter," Connor explains, "Some people dye the batter different colours. But the really impressive ones are where they use the one batter and cook different sections at different times to get the shading just right."

"I've never seen that before," Kevin says in wonder, "That's really a thing?"

"Yeah!" Connor says, pouring the batter onto the buttered pan, "I'll YouTube it for you later. It's fun to watch."

"People are so creative," Kevin murmurs, leaning against the counter as he watches, "Oh, also, I've decided that we went too strong with the coffee yesterday..."

Connor winces at the memory, "Mhm?"

"I definitely want to try you on an iced coffee instead. Sometimes they put ice cream and whipped cream in it, so I think you might like it a bit more until you get used to the taste."

"I don't know if I really _want_ to like something that I have to get used to."

"I know you think I'm lying, but I _promise_ you, once you find the right one, coffee is worth it."

Connor glances at him sceptically, flipping the first pancake. It's a dud, as usual. Half of it is uncooked and still runny.

"First one's always the worst," he explains to Kevin, just in case he thought he was bad at making pancakes.

"My mom used to say the same thing," Kevin laughs.

"It's a universal pancake rule!" he protests indignantly.

"Keep telling yourself that," Kevin grins cheekily, bumping shoulders with him.

Connor isn't sure how the boy sobbing in his arms last night is the same man that grins at him today, seemingly at ease and confident in his own skin. He wants to reach out and take his hand and squeeze it, to let Kevin know that he's on his side, but he definitely doesn't want to crowd him either. What was the protocol for this situation? He knew it wasn't to apologise - he knew that from the beginning, but how could he show Kevin that he was there for him, always?

He supposed it was just like this - treating him as if nothing had passed between them until Kevin told him that he needed something else from him.

The rest of the day passes quietly; they continue updating the blog, answering questions, and trying to decide what they might do for the rest of the week. They don't want to treat it like a vacation, so sightseeing the museums and the tourist destinations are out.

Instead they do some research, looking for more effective ways to build and repair their huts. They walk to the hardware stores, looking for specials on construction items, managing to get a good deal on nails. Kevin's better at haggling, stepping in when Connor falters and using that beautiful smile of his to charm the shopkeepers into complimentary items.

It's a long, hot day but at least Connor knows that when he gets home he can shower properly.

Kevin cooks dinner while he does, and they eat side by side on the couch again, never too far away from each other the entire time.

When it's time for bed, Connor worries it's going to be awkward - that they might revert back to sleeping apart because Kevin didn't like the arrangement. Kevin doesn't say a word as he slips into his side of the bed, glancing back at Connor expectantly. There's nowhere else Connor would rather be. 

He wonders if it's normal to behave this way. To curl up next to another man, their bodies pressed together, and feel so safe and content, like there was nothing that could come between them. It's normal in reality, he knows. But maybe just not normal with a best friend?

Connor needs to stop questioning _everything._ This is good, and Kevin's okay with it, and so he's just going to enjoy it, for however long it lasts. He breathes in the soft scent of Kevin's hair and presses that little bit closer, letting himself drift away.

~~~

He isn't woken by screaming or shouting. Instead he wakes slowly to the soft rise and fall of Kevin's chest. Connor's not quite on top of him, more pressed against his side and tucked under his arm. He can feel where Kevin's tracing his fingers down his back, his calloused fingertips sometimes making contact with the bare skin of Connor's shoulder. It feels like electricity, sending shivers down his spine and causing goosebumps to blossom on his arms.

He wants to stay there forever, but surely Kevin knows he's awake. He lets out an audible breath, turning his head slightly and Kevin's hand stops its patterns, resting on his shoulder blade instead.

It seems to be an invitation to stay, so Connor doesn't bother to move just yet.

"Have you been awake long?" he asks without moving.

"No," Kevin murmurs, his voice thick with sleep, "Just a few minutes..."

Connor nods, and he tilts his head, resting more comfortably on Kevin's chestbone, "How did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in a long time," he admits quietly.

Connor's neck is starting to ache and they reposition slightly so they're lying side by side again, facing each other.

"No nightmares?" Connor asks hesitantly.

"No nightmares," Kevin confirms.

They fall silent, and from here Connor can see all the little details of Kevin's face. His impossibly blue eyes with tiny black streaks, his long eyelashes and the little worry lines in his forehead. If he wants to, he could trace the little lines against his eyes that crinkle up when he smiles, almost invisible if Connor hadn't known they were there. His skin is flawlessly pale against the chocolate brown of his hair, and Connor tilts his head to meet Kevin's lips when the other man leans in.

It takes him a whole second to realise what's happening. So distracted; so lost in the moment that it had all come so naturally, like a perfect next step. He can't help but pull away in surprise, though he misses Kevin's lips the second he's away from them.

Kevin's eyes are wide, seemingly just as surprised.

"I..." he stutters, before trying his sentence again, "I'm sorry. I probably should've asked first..."

Connor swallows thickly. He can hear his heart racing in his ears, a deafening waterfall. He can't focus on anything else but the feeling of Kevin's lips against his. It's everything he's dreamed of. Everything he's ever wanted, and he can't stop to question the reality of it all.

Finally he just smiles.

"No apologising," he whispers, and in a moment of boldness he reaches out to pull the fabric of Kevin's singlet into his fist, leaning in to kiss him again. He can't help himself, he _needs_ to.

Kevin melts against him, leaning up on one elbow so he can lean over him at a different angle, deepening the kiss and steadying himself with a hand on Connor's arm. It's a mess and Connor can feel himself shaking, pushing back on Kevin's chest again so he can look at him quizzically.

As much as he wants to keep kissing him, now he just has questions.

Instead of questions comes a breathy laugh; he can't help it, and then Kevin is grinning too and they're just holding tight to each other as they start giggling. Connor's blushing and he can see that Kevin is too, a flush spreading down beyond the visibility his singlet allows.

"I can't believe I just did that," Kevin starts, flopping onto his back again and grinning at the ceiling.

Connor stays on his side, watching him curiously even if he can't wipe the smile from his face, "Why did you?"

Kevin glances over at him, "I wanted to," he says simply, "I wanted to and it just felt...right."

The words sends Connor's heart fluttering into his throat and he bites his lip hard to keep his smile from leaping off his face, "I...thought you were straight,"

Kevin's mouth twists thoughtfully and he shrugs, "I guess I was wrong..."

His heart is about to burst and Connor can't help his whine, soft and sweet, "Oh," he whispers, "Kevin..."

"I know. The stupidest thing I could've said, but..." he shrugs, "Being here- in Uganda... I've done a lot of thinking. A lot of my beliefs have been challenged in...a lot of ways," he sighs, "And all the time I was thinking and suffering, you were always there. I mean, so was Arnold, but I didn't feel so...understood until you came along. And so I just kept _thinking_ about you, more and more until I just...wanted to kiss you."

Connor doesn't know what to say, his heart in his throat as his stomach twists.

Kevin glances over at him when he stays quiet, looking worried for a moment, "It was okay, right? That I kissed you?"

"More than okay," Connor murmurs, "I've wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you," he admits quietly, "But that was just- lust, I guess. You're attractive and my age and bright eyed and...well, I was a little pressed for other options," he says with a tiny grin, "Plus I was kind of still fighting myself on whether or not I could be gay and..." he shrugs, realising that he's rambling, "But once we left the Church I was doomed."

"Yeah. I could tell."

Connor stiffens, staring in horror at Kevin, "Really?"

Kevin can't help his smile, "It was the blushing that gave it away. I probably wouldn't have figured it out otherwise."

Connor rolls onto his back, covering his inflamed face with both hands as he groans, "Oh my gosh..."

"Hey," Kevin murmurs, rolling onto his stomach and pulling Connor's hands away from his face, "None of that." 

Connor pouts as he stares up at him, his voice just a little on the side of whiny, "You should've told me to reign it in."

"Nah," Kevin tells him quietly, "It was flattering, and...you were cute."

Connor doesn't think he can get any redder.

"It didn't bother me. And it wasn't like it was all the time."

"I must've had a pretty good poker face, because it definitely _was_ all the time."

Kevin's got a stupid goofy grin on his face as he peers down at Connor, and all Connor wants to do is just kiss it right off his lips. He's slightly mortified at himself but maybe the signs were all there; somehow both Neeley and Thomas picked it up pretty quickly, and Kevin wasn't blind. 

"So," Kevin says quietly, half hovering over him as he rests on one arm, the other one out so he's not putting any pressure on his stitches, "Can I kiss you some more?"

Connor reaches up to trace the strong line of Kevin's jaw, smirking up at him.

"I think that's a great idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember how I was *thinking* about a cheeky hop over to New Zealand to see the show again?? Turns out we booked flights. It's happening. Whoops.


	7. domestic bliss

They stay in bed for hours.

They stay in bed until Kevin's lips are red and his mouth is flushed. The redness in Connor's cheeks hasn't faded; he can tell, because Kevin's mouth turns up at the corners and he skims the backs of his fingers over Connor's freckles every time he catches sight of it.

They talk as well, soft murmuring between kisses. It's nothing too deep; memories and moments they remember of their feelings for each other getting stronger and stronger. Kevin admits that a majority of it was when they were baking, when things were so easy, and they recall the heated moment when they were both drunk. They weren't ready, they know. It wouldn't have meant half as much if their first kiss had been then. But Kevin had wanted to, he tells Connor.

"You just looked so- _good_ ," Kevin murmurs, and his head tilts as he kisses the corner of Connor's mouth, placing another one to the underside of his jaw.

Connor lets out an unsteady breath, turning his head upwards to give Kevin more room, "Mm?"

"Mhm," Kevin murmurs back at him, and his teeth nip at Connor's neck.

"Oh, shit," Connor half-moans as the sharp graze sends shivers down his body, and then gasps because- well, he _doesn't_ swear.

Kevin pulls back, his eyes alight with wonder, "What?"

"Nothing," Connor says quickly, "I didn't say a damn thing."

Kevin's trying hard not to smile too widely, "I'm pretty sure you just said shit."

"Did not," Connor grumbles, "Don't give yourself too much credit."

"What? You think I can't make you say it again?"

"You won't," Connor says, and it's only half a challenge.

Kevin smirks, reaching forward to cup Connor's jaw. He leans in, his tongue pushing past Connor's lips and Connor doesn't fight it, groaning as he braces himself on Kevin's chest. Their kiss is too messy; teeth clashing and Kevin's biting and Connor's just laughing as he pulls away.

"You think that was sexy enough make me swear, hm?" he asks, nose wrinkling as he giggles, "Well I have notes. You're _way_ too enthusiastic,"

Kevin thunks their foreheads together with a toothy grin. He's so unapologetic, confident when he has no reason to be, "You don't like sexy enthusiasm?"

"If my lips weren't so sore, maybe," Connor grumbles quietly.

"Well, I promise you, I'll hear that word from your mouth again," Kevin vows, pressing another quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, I'll hold you to that," Connor laughs, pausing when Kevin's stomach grumbles, "Sounds like it's time for breakfast though."

"Um, kissing officially trumps any other activity that we could do."

"Your stomach disagrees," Connor says, detangling himself from Kevin so he can sit up.

Kevin reaches for him and pulls him back down beside him, wrapping his arms around Connor to keep him in place. Connor is quiet for a moment, enjoying the fact that this is everything he's ever wanted. That he can lay here knowing that Kevin _likes_ him - that it's not just been in his head. Against all odds, things...actually worked out.

"You're clingy," Connor tells him, but he doesn't mind. He curls and presses his face against Kevin's chest, closing his eyes as he wraps one arm around his waist.

"Only on my terms," Kevin points out, "So take advantage while you can."

"On your terms?" Connor questions, squirming so he can look up at Kevin quizzically.

Kevin presses a soft kiss to his forehead and Connor's eyes flutter lightly. Nothing has ever felt so sweet, and he can't believe he's breathless at such an innocuous action. Kevin's eyes are serious, but maybe a little concerned as he glances down at him, "Mhm, sometimes being touched is a little too much...after what happened."

Connor presses his face back into Kevin's chest, hugging and holding him tight, "On your terms," he confirms quietly.

He feels Kevin let out a long, relieved breath, and his hands start to rub gentle circles on Connor's back. 

It's a perfect moment, until Kevin's stomach rumbles again and he laughs.

"Fine. Maybe it is time for breakfast," he says, releasing Connor.

"What are we going to have this morning?" Connor asks, sitting up finally and raking his fingers through his hair.

Kevin yawns, sitting up next to him and stretching languidly with a groan, "Boring cereal sounds good." 

"Boring cereal it is," Connor nods, finally pulling himself up and off the bed.

Clingy was an understatement. Kevin finds every opportunity to touch him, pressing kisses to his shoulders or his lips on every pass. He's almost grossly affectionate, which is something Connor didn't expect at all. Not that he's complaining; every kiss is still so new and exciting that it fills him with brilliant warmth and longing to be close to him.

Connor makes them breakfast and they sit at the little dining table, sneaking glances at each other behind mouthfuls of cereal and giggling bashfully when they make eye contact. It feels extreme; an overreaction. Connor knows they're being stupid about it but he can't help himself. It's like seeing with new eyes, touching with new hands. Kevin is his and that's all that matters.

They spend the next half hour typing up another blog post, but it feels different this time. They sit in the middle of the couch, and Kevin has his arm draped lazily over Connor's shoulder, adding his input where necessary. Neither of them bother to question why Church and Thomas spend a week here anymore.

There's also a practical reason, Connor finds when he eventually thinks about it. Posting over the five days generates much more traffic than they would've if they posted all at once.

"I'm forcing you to have an iced coffee today," Kevin tells Connor, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Connor shivers lightly, his fingers stilling on the keyboard as Kevin trails from his jaw to under his ear, "Yeah?"

"We didn't have coffee yesterday. That's kind of sad, if you ask me," he breathed, pulling the strap of Connor's singlet down to suck gently at the skin beneath.

"You're very distracting," Connor murmurs, closing his eyes.

"So are you," Kevin murmurs back, "Feels like I can't get enough of you."

Heat floods straight through Connor's body and he can't help the soft groan that leaves his lips, "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?" Kevin asks with a small smirk, reaching to cup the other side of Connor's face, turning his head so he can kiss his lips.

"Because."

"Because why, Connor?"

It's a leading question, and Connor knows what Kevin wants him to say. _Because it's so hot it makes me want to do things we're not ready for._ He opens his mouth, about to articulate it, before he gets too embarrassed and his face flushes and he simply pulls Kevin in to kiss his stupid grinning mouth.

"Shut up," he says as he pulls away, "Stop being cute and distracting and go wash the dishes. Have a shower. Something where you're not in front of me."

Kevin pouts but concedes, hauling himself to his feet. He kisses the top of Connor's head as he passes. 

Without him right there, Connor finishes the blog post, inserts all the pictures and hits upload, all in the time it takes for Kevin to do both things that Connor had mentioned.

"Okay, your turn for a shower," Kevin tells him, "I'm going to go and get you an iced coffee."

Connor chuckles quietly, "Okay, okay. Don't forget your room key."

Kevin's already on it, flashing him a glimpse of it as he passes.

Connor smiles fondly, watching him go and putting the laptop into sleep mode. He doesn't shower for long, conscious of the water wastage, and after dressing he remakes the beds, pushing them together from where they'd drifted over the last two nights.

When the door opens, Connor's back on the couch replying to comments.

Kevin's juggling a tray of the coffees and holding a bag, "I got pastries as well."

"We already had breakfast?"

"Yeah, but they looked really good just sitting there on the counter and I couldn't help myself."

Connor rolls his eyes, "When we get back to the States, we're just going to get fat on pastries, aren't we?"

He doesn't realise his assumption until Kevin doesn't respond right away. He snaps his head up in horror to see Kevin grinning at him, and he can feel his face immediately turn red.

"I mean..."

Kevin chuckles, "Don't backtrack on me now," he says softly, "When we get back to the States...?"

Connor glances up at him shyly, unsure how to even start, "Well..." he says quietly, "I figure we're going to have to go back to America eventually, right? Or, maybe not..." he says with a shrug, "Something tells me some of the boys might actually stay longer, if they're still being sponsored. But after the two years, I'll probably go back."

"You said 'we'," Kevin prompts, his grin a little too knowing for Connor's taste. 

Connor can feel his face flush even more and he huffs. He doesn't want to be presumptuous, but...he had these thoughts _before_ they'd kissed, "Well," he murmured, "Keep in mind that I'm not a crazy person, and I had worked this out before today, okay? But I thought that when we went back, we could go together. Live somewhere with a nice theatre district, so I could start my career, and somewhere that will be good for you so you could teach or- do whatever else you wanted with your time. And that way we wouldn't have to face the world as ex-Mormons alone."

Kevin's still smiling; he hasn't stopped since Connor started talking, and he nods slowly, "So this was what you were thinking before we got together?"

"Are we together?"

The smile drops from Kevin's face and he frowns, suddenly uncertain, "Aren't we?"

"Hey, don't make that face. I- just- we haven't actually talked about it. I don't know what the...protocol is for things like this."

"Beats me," Kevin shrugs, more relaxed now, "Maybe we should...talk about it."

"As long as you don't get distracted."

"No promises there," Kevin grins, bringing his bag and the coffees over to where Connor is. 

They sit with their legs crossed at either end of the couch, which is a tactic Connor's adopted to keep Kevin's hands off him for the duration of their conversation.

"Before we get started, here, try this," Kevin says, handing him the takeaway plastic cup. The sides are wet with condensation and Connor wipes it on his pants before taking a sip.

It's bitter still, but there's something sweet as well. It's thicker somehow, and the cream with chocolate on top is deceptive.

"What is this?"

"Coffee frappe, with vanilla flavouring, vanilla ice cream, whipped cream and chocolate syrup on top."

"So a sugar coma in a cup?"

"Well, the coffee part kind of counteracts the coma part, but essentially yes."

Connor laughs, taking another sip, "I think I do like this."

"Yes!" Kevin beams triumphantly, a smug smile on his face.

"I like _this_ , it's sweet and easy to drink. Hot coffee, on the other hand, I don't know if I want to touch."

"There's other types," Kevin protests, "Macchiatos and Espressos and..." it's clear he's not sure what else there is, "...other things."

"Those are all definitely words for coffee," Connor confirms, trying not to laugh at him, "Do _you_ know the difference?"

 _"_ Alright, I know my calling now. I'm going to become a professional barista, and then I'll make you drink different coffee types forever."

Connor laughs, "Alright, alright... I can't wait to see you in one of those little green Starbucks aprons."

"Oh yeah?" Kevin asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Connor knows that look. Any moment now, Kevin's going to crawl across the couch and start kissing him, and they haven't even started talking about the actual issue yet.

"But- back to what we were _supposed_ to be talking about," Connor backtracks, and he swears Kevin looks disappointed, "Us."

"Yes," Kevin says, taking a sip of his coffee and reaching for the bag of pastries, pulling out a bagel and splitting it. He gives one half to Connor, chewing thoughtfully, "I mean..." he huffs, "I like you, obviously."

"And I like you. A lot."

"And I really like kissing you, and I'd like to do it some more."

Connor blushes and rolls his eyes, "Duh," he murmurs with a laugh, "Me too."

Connor wants to ask the cliché question - 'so what are we?' - but it sounds so juvenile...but there doesn't seem to be any other way to properly define it. Luckily Kevin's steamrolling through, his ability to be embarrassed by things almost non-existent.

"Is it too weird to ask if you'll be my boyfriend?"

Connor hides behind his coffee, grinning widely, "Kinda weird," he admits, "But...it also kinda sounds good when you say it."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes," Connor says, "I want to be your boyfriend."

"Good. See? Easy," he says, putting down his coffee. Connor thinks Kevin's about to crawl over to him but he shakes his head.

"Not so easy," Connor says. He doesn't really want to talk about this, but it's best to get it out of the way, "What about... Kitguli?"

Kevin sits back, nodding slowly, "I mean... Church and Thomas seem to get away with it, right? We just have to...be careful, you know?"

Connor's glad he doesn't try and push for them to continue their affection, or to get rid of it altogether. He nods slowly, "And just make sure we don't...do anything that could attract unwanted attention from people who might not be comfortable with...us."

If it were any other place in the world, maybe Kevin would fight it, Connor thinks. He seems to be loud and unapologetic about everything in his life, so maybe his affection is the same way. But here it's different and dangerous, and Connor's glad he doesn't have to explain that.

Kevin nods, "Yeah," he murmurs, "And it's only for two years. And then we can go back to America?"

Connor nods, "A lot can change in eighteen months..." he muses, "Maybe we might even end up staying. I don't know..."

"Well...after two years, I at least want to go back to _visit_ ," he says, "I miss my siblings. Oh, I can't wait for you to meet them too."

Connor grins, but he tilts his head curiously, "Would they be okay with meeting me?"

He pauses, confused. After a beat he realises, "Oh."

Connor nods a little. He's already confronted the reality of never seeing his parents again, of never introducing a future partner to them and never being accepted. Maybe Kevin hasn't yet.

"They were okay when I left the Church," Kevin tells him slowly, "Confused, I guess. But none of them were angry. My parents were, a little. But we've been talking since then. They're disappointed, I know...but they're not hostile. I think we'll be safe...but maybe I'll tell them before we go meet them for the first time..."

Connor shakes his head with a laugh, "I think it's a bit too soon to start...thinking of all this. We have a lot of time...but I mean, I'll set your expectations now - I haven't spoken to my parents since we all left the Church, and I don't plan to."

Kevin nods slowly, and as if he can't help himself he finally makes contact, finding Connor's hand to squeeze it tightly, "What did they say when you told them?"

"Essentially that they didn't want to talk to me unless I was coming back to the Church," he says, and Kevin looks crushed.

"That's awful."

Connor shakes his head, "...I understand it, I guess. It was hard. But that's their choice."

"They should love you unconditionally. That's their responsibility for bringing you into this world.

"They love God more," Connor explains, "And my birth, my life, was all for God, for the Church. To spread the word of Jesus Christ and His teachings...and to pass that down to my own children," he explains. He thought it would hurt more; that he would tear up or be afraid to talk about it in case he triggered some major breakdown. Instead it comes across clean and without emotion, "But now I've tainted their view of a perfect household, so they're happier without me in it."

Kevin takes Connor's coffee cup and puts it down, taking Connor's other hand and bringing his hands to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently as he listens. His brows are furrowed and it's clear he doesn't understand, but Connor doesn't expect him to.

"How can you be so calm about it all?" Kevin asks, "I'd be devastated if...if my parents just turned their backs on me."

"I guess it comes from always knowing it was going to happen," Connor shrugs, "I had feelings for guys since I was a lot younger, remember? I think I was always destined to leave the Church...it just happened a little sooner than I anticipated, and for a different reason."

Kevin nods slowly, "Were you...ever upset about it?"

Connor shrugs, and Kevin scoots closer so he's kneeling in front of him, watching him with such genuine interest and curiosity. Connor doesn't think anyone has ever been so interested in his history, or him as a person before. He's flooded with a wave of affection for him, and this time it's Connor who can't help himself, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. Kevin smiles, but he barely kisses him back, still interested in Connor's answer. 

"I was," he admits quietly, "Not a lot. It was almost so gradual that I didn't ever have a full moment to be upset about it. An inevitable that I just accepted, and it was only when I saw a really cute guy I'd be shocked into a thought that I might never get to...do this with them," he says, leaning in for another kiss.

Kevin kisses him back properly this time, his hands sliding up from Connor's arms to his neck and into his hair, and _hell_ , Connor didn't realise how much he liked that until now. He whines softly against Kevin's mouth and he can feel Kevin grin, pulling back to chuckle softly.

"Are we ever going to be able to have a normal conversation ever again?" Connor asks softly.

"I don't think I want to," Kevin replies, his hands falling to Connor's shoulders. He watches him carefully, considering all they've said, "Are you really okay with it?"

"With my parents?"

Kevin nods, "You're not just...pushing it down?"

Connor's about to shake his head when something inside of him clenches like a vice and betrays him. He pauses, gaze lowering as he tries to understand, but he's not sure what it means.

"I...uh, don't know," he admits quietly, thrown off by the sudden feeling inside of him he can't identify.

"You packed a lot of stuff away when you were younger. Stuff you weren't allowed to deal with. Your sexuality, your thoughts about the Church..." Kevin says quietly, "Did you do the same with this?"

Connor thinks back on what he said; his rationalisation for being okay with his parents abandoning him. That it was all inevitable, that he had time to get used to it. That it wasn't a big deal. But then he remembers what it was like to hear his father say those words to him over the phone. How he walked away from that conversation into a hut of boys who were feeling their own emotional upheavals. Devastation and anger and fear and Connor was the one who helped pull them out of it and then barely thought about his own parents since then. But...aside from the moment it happened, Connor didn't feel sad.

He huffs a sigh, "I don't know what you're trying to find here..."

"You just seem really well adjusted for someone who got disowned a month ago."

Connor shrugs, "Do I have to be upset about it?" he asks, "They made their choices."

"They made a choice not to love you. Doesn't that...make you sad?"

"I think... It could, if I bothered to think about it," Connor tells him, "But it's not worth thinking about, because there's nothing I'm willing to do to change it. So I can either sit and be sad about it, and let it consume me...or I can just...not think about it."

Kevin raises an eyebrow at him, and Connor shrugs defensively.

"Sounds like a bad coping mechanism to me."

"Or I'm just really practical?" Connor tries, but Kevin's not having any of it.

"You know, there's probably a therapy session booked in our futures," Kevin says will a roll of his eyes, before he grins at Connor, "The good kind, not the bad kind."

Connor laughs and he nods slowly, "Yeah, maybe."

Kevin peppers his face in quick kisses, pulling back and contemplating for a moment, before pressing one more between his eyebrows, "Whatever happens in two years, we'll figure it out together, okay?"

Connor smiles as he pulls back, and they talk idly about what to do for the rest of their day. They go out; exploring the town and seeing the sights, taking a few walking trails. They can't hold hands, but every so often Kevin will bump his shoulder and give him a smile that makes Connor's chest want to burst.

That night, Kevin cooks while Connor updates the blog again, including a selfie that he and Kevin took on their walk. The food isn't awful, considering Kevin's description of his own cooking, and they turn the television on to watch quietly. It's nothing they've seen before, and they bond over the fact that they're not very familiar with modern TV shows. Connor hadn't been interested, but Kevin wasn't allowed.

When it's time for bed, Connor can't help but hesitate. It was fine when there were other reasons; when Kevin needed comfort, or when he was scared the nightmares were going to come back. But...now if felt _different_ and charged with different energy. They were sleeping in the same bed as _boyfriends_ now.

But Connor is overthinking it, as always.

They brush their teeth side by side, occasionally bumping elbows and giggling about it. Once they're both in their pyjamas, Kevin crawls into bed and looks back at Connor with that same expectant look, inviting him in. Connor kneels onto the bed and flops down beside him, and without a second thought Kevin is cuddling into him, the long lines of their bodies pressed together. Connor's arms settle around him comfortably and they let out a content sigh together, relaxing into each other.

"Goodnight," Kevin murmurs, nuzzling against his chest lightly. 

Connor rests his chin on Kevin's head as his arms tighten around him, breathing in deeply and smiling as he closes his eyes.

"Sweet dreams."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I suck at writing, so sorry about this chapter??   
> Anyway, so we didn't get to go see BoM in NZ, which sucks, but... you know. Health. It's important.   
> (also I miss Church and Thomas!!)


	8. home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. What's that? A month since I last posted? ... to be fair, I've fallen into a Black Monday/Andrew Rannells/think about anything but the pandemic hole so there's that as well. Good news for you guys, the next chapter is done already and then there's only one more to go and MAYBE a sequel if you're lucky. 
> 
> CW: Gunshots, hiding, fire. Brace yourselves.

Their last day in Kampala comes too quickly.

They spend the remainder of the week doing much of the same thing; going out for fresh air, updating and thinking of new content for the blog, communicating with their donators, and relentlessly making out.

It's mostly Kevin's fault; he can't seem to keep himself away from Connor or his mouth, but Connor definitely doesn't mind. Kissing him isn't getting boring anytime soon, and Connor delights in curling up against Kevin each night, or falling asleep with the other wrapped in his arms. 

On the final day, they go shopping early for perishables and an abundance of poptarts, filling up the remainders of their suitcase with the supplies they've gotten. Once the hotel room is clean and empty and the beds are back in their usual spaces, Connor looks around one last time. He checks all the cupboards and drawers, even the ones he knows they didn't use, paranoid that they're going to leave something behind.

"I think we're done," Kevin calls from where he's been checking the bathroom.

Checkout isn't for another two hours, but Kevin wants to stop for one last coffee and a pastry for breakfast. If they're packed now, they can retrieve their bags after the food and check out straight away.

Connor joins him in the lounge room, looking around and hoping they haven't forgotten anything. All their electronics have been charged and the cables are safely away, and they really are ready but Connor is still lingering.

"Everything okay?" Kevin asks, leaning against the couch.

Connor sighs, "I just...don't want to go. This week has been perfect."

Kevin grins widely, but there's a hint of sadness to it as well, "And now we have to go back to the way it was before."

Connor pauses, before he smiles a little, "Maybe not _exactly_ the way it was...but don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be going back, I just wish..."

"I know," Kevin murmured, wrapping his arms low around Connor's hips and pulling their bodies together. He hunches slightly, forehead dropping to Connor’s shoulder as he sighs softly, "Wish we didn't have to hide."

"We'll still be boyfriends, right?" Connor asks shyly, turning his face slightly so he can press his lips to Kevin's forehead.

"Duh," Kevin promises, heaving a sigh, "...I wonder how suspicious it'll be if we suddenly request a roommate swap..."

Connor snickers softly, "Thomas and Church will want to room together as well, if we do..."

"Which leaves Arnold and Davis..." 

"Davis wouldn't be able to stand him," Connor laughs, "That, or Davis would just entertain Arnold with Dad jokes all night."

"At least _we_ won't have to hear them," Kevin says cheekily, sighing dramatically when Connor pulls away.

"We have to go now if we want to have a lazy breakfast," Connor says apologetically.

He gets his wallet and looks around one last time (for real) before reaching for the door handle.

"Wait, wait," Kevin calls, and Connor turns to him, thinking that Kevin might've seen something he'd missed.

He's met with Kevin inches from his face, beautiful as always with that bright smile, his eyes alight with mischief.

"One more kiss, please."

~~~

The trip back to Kitguli is quiet, and Connor feels a strange sense of déjà vu. They're in the same position they were on the way here; arms and thighs pressed together, but this time Connor isn't hyperaware of it. He's comfortable and relaxed, comforted by the skin that touches now it's familiar, and now that he's not stressing about what Kevin might be feeling.

The journey is long but they talk quietly, they nap against each other, and it's only as the bus pulls up half the day later that Connor feels the familiar dread settling in his stomach. If he bothers to truly acknowledge it, they had run away from the trauma here; had stepped back to give Kevin some breathing space. While their week had been perfect and completely different, the memories come back and Connor realises that nothing here has really changed.Kevin's being brave though, like he always tries to be. A fake, too wide smile on his face as he gathers their bags and thanks the driver.

"You know, a week kind of felt like forever without you guys around."

Connor turns to the familiar voice and spots Church and Thomas there to greet them, unable to stop the grin on his face. He's _missed_ them, and the four of them hug tightly.

"Yeah, well it was pretty lonely with only this one for company," Kevin teases, but Connor doesn't miss the fond look he shoots.

Church doesn't seem to miss it either, one eyebrow rising. He doesn't say anything, and Connor's grateful. How can it be that they've been in the same space for less than thirty seconds and Church already has suspicions?

Thomas and Church help with their bags, and Connor gives them an update on the blog as they walk. Their donations are coming in steadily still, boosted by each of their posts. There's been new interest with Connor and Kevin taking over and providing different points of view, and Church and Thomas agree that rotating out both the Ugandan's and the missionaries is a good idea.

There's a lull in the conversation, and Connor knows what he has to ask, but he honestly doesn't want to. He wants to stay in the bubble of Kampala bliss for just a little bit longer.

Still, he bites the bullet and tilts his head, "So...what's been happening here?"

It seems Kevin's been waiting for it as well, "Has there been any news about the General?" 

Connor glances at him and resists every instinct to reach for his hand. Instead Kevin catches his eye, offering him a reassuring smile - he's okay, for now. Church and Thomas glance at each other, wincing a little and shrugging.

"Yeah, there's been some news," Thomas says quietly, "He hasn't been to the village yet, but we heard gunfire a few days back. Mafala thinks its still from a nearby village though."

Kevin's nodding slowly, his eyes trained on the ground, "Oh."

"Mafala has a plan, if he comes," Church assures them, "We've been shoring up the walls of the Town Hall with thicker wood, and bits of foam we've found, so we can all hide in there if we need to. The bullets aren't likely to go through the layers, apparently."

"Apparently?" Connor asks dubiously.

"Depends on the kind of gun, how far away he is when he shoots...that kind of thing. So it's a last resort, but...it's the only one we have."

"Cool," Kevin whispers, and he's definitely not cool, "Okay, that's- um, we'll be fine. It's nothing to worry about, right?"

Church nudges his shoulder, a quiet comfort, but doesn't have anything more to say. It's a bleak outlook, no matter what.

"If the General comes, we'll just leave," Connor tells him quietly, "We don't have to hide. We'll just run, okay?"

Kevin nods, brows furrowed in concentration as he glares at the road. He's not okay, but he seems to snap out of it when Church speaks.

"So, aside from the blog, how was the rest of Kampala...?"

Anxiety almost forgotten (but not entirely; Connor thinks he's faking it again), Kevin can't help but bite his lip to hide a smile, glancing up at Church, "It was good."

"Just good?" Thomas croons from beside him, and Connor wrinkles his nose, "It's a nice place, right? Did the number of bedrooms suit your needs?"

Connor glares at him, but there's no heat behind his sneer, "Kevin and I were well prepared," he says easily, "Our missionary status used to prevent us from sleeping in separate rooms, or did you forget?"

Thomas just smirks, and Connor knows they'll be talking about it later.

The rest of the journey is filled with anecdotes from the week, and they're welcomed home by their friends with dinner and more stories. Connor had only been slightly worried about the missionaries while he was away, but he knew Thomas would look after them. They'd been paired together as District Leader and Assistant, and if they were still Elders, Thomas would've been expected to act in his stead.

Despite their fairly easy day, Connor finds himself retreating to his bedroom early, after passing Kevin to squeeze his wrist and wish him a soft goodnight. Sleeping without him was going to be strange.

He's in his pyjamas and about to crawl under his sheets when Thomas slips into the room, a knowing smirk on his lips.

"Want something, Poptarts?" Connor asks cheekily.

"I do," he says with a grin, "I want you to tell me everything. In detail this time, not that half-assed recount I got before."

Connor sits on his bed, crossing his legs and rolling his eyes fondly. Thomas mirrors him, staring expectantly.

"Firstly, I want to know how you knew something happened."

Thomas rolls his eyes, "Come on, Connor. You really have to ask? You've changed. I'm pretty sure everyone else can see it as well."

"How do you know it's not just because I got to spend a week in a really nice hotel, hm?"

"Mostly the fact that you can't take your eyes off Price. You know, more than you used to," he teases, "But before, you used to realise you were staring and look away. Now you just stare."

Connor winces. He thought he was being more subtle than that, "I think you should stop focusing on what I'm doing,"

"Wish I could, but the missionary handbook kind of drilled it into me," Thomas says and it almost sounds like an apology, so Connor grins at him. He doesn't mind, really. "Alright, spill!"

Connor mocks a long, suffering sigh, but in all honesty he's kind of excited to talk about it.

"I don't know," he shrugs, smiling coyly, "It started innocent at first, I guess..." he murmurs, watching gleefully as Thomas hangs on every word, "The first night Kevin had nightmares, so we...we pushed the beds together..."

"This first night?" Thomas scoffs, "Man, you guys were ready, weren't you? It took James and I like three nights, and we'd already figured ourselves out."

"It wasn't like that!" Connor protests with a laugh, "I promise. We just went to sleep, and the next day we woke up and... It felt like it should've been weird, but it wasn't. And we did the blog stuff and we cooked and then that night we kept the beds together."

"And nothing happened still?" Thomas asks in disbelief.

"No. It felt...different, that was for sure. But we didn't talk about it."

"And then...?" Thomas asks, as if he knows that _something_ is coming.

Connor feels a blush rising up his cheeks even thinking about it, smiling bashfully, "And then that next morning we kissed."

"Oh my _god_ ," Thomas hisses, his nose wrinkling as he giggles. Connor can't help but laugh, hitting him with his pillow to shut him up, "Who kissed who?"

"Kevin started it, but... I mean, if he hadn't, I probably would've. We were just...talking after we'd woken up and it was...it was kind of perfect."

Thomas seems to all but melt, shaking his head, "And then what?"

"...then we kept kissing," Connor says with a shrug, "And he told me that maybe he wasn't as straight as he thought, and that- oh, and that he knew about my crush on him. The entire time."

"Ouch," Thomas giggles at him, not sounding sympathetic in the slightest, "That's rough. And then?"

His insistence makes Connor think he's waiting for something else, and he rolls his eyes, "And then we...talked about it and agreed to be boyfriends-"

"It's not a business transaction," Thomas laughs and Connor hits him with his pillow again, "Okay, so you're boyfriends. And then...?"

Connor laughs again, shaking his head, "And then nothing. We kissed, we slept next to each other...and we enjoyed each other's company for the rest of our time."

Thomas stares at him for another a few moments, waiting, until he deflates, "That's all? Just kissing? You had a _week!"_

Connor just shrugs, smirking over at Thomas, "Some of us aren’t interested in immediately jumping each other the second we're alone."

Thomas flushes scarlet but he's grinning widely, "I just figured with all that spare time, you would've...you know, done _something_ a little more adventurous." 

Connor considers it, thinking back on the week. It had been perfect, really, and could’ve easily gone further had either of them let it. But just getting to kiss Kevin is a luxury he'd never thought he'd ever get, and he wants to savour it as long as he can.

He shrugs, before raising an eyebrow at Thomas, "I take it you and Church got up to a little more than just kissing, then? You never really told me how everything started between you two. And about how you made up after your fight."

"Misunderstanding," Thomas corrects with a small smile, "After you guys left, we took a walk and James finally listened to me. And he talked about how he was overreacting but he was too proud to say anything..." he murmured with a fond smile, "And I apologised for the hickeys, but it really wasn't what it was about. Apparently something you said to him made him panic."

Connor tilts his head, fear creeping up his throat, "What? Something I said? I’m sor-"

"No, no!” Thomas stops him, “Panic in a good way. It was something about him missing out on being with me just because he's afraid. And he didn't want to miss out at all."

"Oh,” Connor breathes a sigh of relief, “Well, my brilliance strikes again," he says, puffing out his chest.

It's Thomas' turn to whack him with his pillow.

"Tell me about your first trip to Kampala."

"The first few trips weren't anything," Thomas tells him softly, "We were in a hostel with several other people in the same room. Barely slept, still adjusting to life in Africa let alone being comfortable around strangers. It was only when Kevin and Arnold arrived that we started splurging for better quality hotels...so we only really got to enjoy one proper week with just each other."

Connor nodded, "So most of your relationship happened in Kitguli?"

"Yeah. You quite helpfully kept putting us on the same jobs, and it was unbelievably easy to sneak away for some alone time once we were done."

Connor's eyebrows rise in surprise, but he doesn't really care. He just scoffs, "And here I thought you two were fine upstanding missionaries devoted to your jobs."

"Hey, the jobs got done!" Thomas protests, grinning cheekily.

Connor laughs and hugs his pillow a little closer to his chest, "It's a good thing I never noticed you guys sneaking off in those first three months, I was way too… uptight then. I might not have forgiven you…" he teases fondly, "You know, before I got distracted with trying not to stare at Kevin."

"There's nothing wrong with networking," Thomas smirks, before shaking his head, "I'm glad it all happened this way though."

Connor nods, "Me too," he says, before yawning, "I think I'm gonna sleep now, if you've got enough gossip for now?"

"For now," Thomas confirms, laying down and getting comfortable.

Connor chuckles, and he's pleased to have gotten to tell his story; to recall it and cement the fact that it wasn't some crazy fever dream.

Despite only being away for a week, the sounds of Kitguli are hard to get used to again. The noise of the bugs outside, the low thread count sheets scratching up his skin, and the loneliness that comes from not having Kevin right beside him. All things that he took for granted before his mission, and all things that he still does now.

He finally gives into sleep, sweaty and a little uncomfortable, but excited for tomorrow when he can see Kevin again.

~~~

Connor wakes to a scream.

Fear tightens every muscle as his eyes shoot open. Immediately he's moving the sheet away from him and getting to his feet. Thomas is beside him without a word, both of them deathly silent as Connor leads the way out of their bedroom. 

The others are all poking their heads out of their rooms too, and Kevin is at his side in seconds with wide, fearful eyes.

Something isn't right.

Soft, pre-dawn light seeps in through the cracks in their hut and it seems wrong for the stillness amongst them. Nobody says a word, all of them too scared to break the tense silence. When there's no further sound, Connor almost relaxes, thinking that maybe someone saw an animal, or _something_ , when gunfire splits the air.

All ten boys drop out of sheer instinct, in varying degrees of crouching and laying flat on the ground. The gunfire came from outside, from a distance, but instinct and fear have taken over any rational thoughts.

"Holy fucking shit," Neeley whispers, "He's coming."

"He's _here,_ " Davis whispers back.

The panic isn't good for anyone, and Connor reaches blindly for Kevin, taking his hand tightly. He's pale, but so is everyone right now, and he needs to get everyone focused.

"Okay, okay," he whispers, "We're going to-"

He's cut off by another blood-curdling scream, which is in turn cut off abruptly by a singular gunshot, and Connor doesn't want to think about it, or who is was. They're all shaking, staring wide-eyed at each other.

Connor doesn't know what to do. He's supposed to know what to do but he can't think, can barely breathe. Kevin's hurting him, his grip so strong it's impacting his circulation, but he doesn't want to tell him to let go.

By now there's more movement outside; more terrifying sounds of destruction and chaos, more gunfire and leaving seems to be the most stupid option right now but Connor doesn't want to stay, either. They can hear the General screeching his hatred at the villagers. There's only one exit to the missionary hut and paralysing fear grips him at being trapped there.

"The t-town hall," Church finally stutters, looking up at Connor, "It's safe there. It's the plan, we have to go there."

Connor's heart is racing and he finally manages to nod, "Okay, okay," he whispers, "Everyone stay in pairs. Don't leave each other. And if anything happens, screw the town hall - run, get away as fast as you can. If anything happens, stay on the outskirts until you know it's safe, and we'll meet back at the fishing spot, okay? The General won't stay forever."

They all nod, grouping up. Connor's glad when he sees Arnold exchanging a few words with Davis; looking grim. He didn't want to be the one to have to tell Arnold that he wouldn't be pairing up with Kevin.

Connor stands by the front door, his heart racing as he listens. Things seem to have gone quiet outside and he lets out a breath, turning back to the boys and nodding before letting the door fall open.

It's eerie how normal it seems. From the door they can see the long stretch up to the Town Hall, and in their line of vision, nothing seems out of place. They can still hear sporadic gunfire though; he's here _, somewhere_. Connor leads the way, crouched as he darts across into the safety of the trees.

They could just start running; all of them as a group, into the forest to never be seen again...but there are enough dangers out there that it's not Connor's first option. He needs to keep everyone safe, and facing the Ugandan wilderness isn't something that generally leads to safety.

He hasn't seen the General yet, or any of his thugs. In fact, even the gunfire has stopped, but Connor doesn't trust it. They use the cover of the trees to make it to the Town Hall, ducking through the back door. Why it isn't barricaded, he doesn't know, but he's awfully glad.

He's immediately overwhelmed with relief at the sight of his friends; Mafala and Kimbay and Kali and the children. They sit with wide eyes in the middle of the hall, and Connor realises that the back door isn't barricaded because the front door is, and heavily. The two exits mean they have an escape route if the General managed to get in through the front.

"Oh thank god," Connor whispers, and he can't even be concerned that he used Heavenly Father's name in vain because he's just so relieved to see everyone. 

"Get down, get down," Mafala gestures, and they move forward to fit amongst the villagers, sharing nervous smiles and reaching to squeeze hands with their friends.

Connor does a quick headcount but all of his boys are here, and Kevin remains glued to his side. He's doing well, Connor thinks. Incredibly quiet, pale and Connor's sure he's been crying, but it's good, considering the situation they're in. Arnold joins Nabalungi next to her father and the two of them hug tightly, before sitting down like everyone else.

"Holy shit," Kevin finally whispers, forehead dropping to Connor's shoulder.

"I know. It's okay," Connor whispers back, managing to rub his back soothingly.

Connor glances around at all the people, before he looks to Mafala. He's glad he doesn't have to be the leader anymore, happy to rely on someone else for a change. 

"What's happening out there?" Nabalungi asks nervously, "Do you think he has left?"

"No," Mafala murmurs, turning to the villagers gathered around.

He seems to be doing his own headcount, and he looks worried as he turns back towards the door. It seems like only half of the villagers have shown up, and Connor worries for the ones still out there, and what might be happening to them. What _has_ happened to them.

A painful five minutes stretches by.

Kevin's still trembling, but the other villagers seem more at ease. A low murmur starts up as they talk, Mafala urging them to "Shhhhh" every time their volume creeps up.

"How long are we going to wait?" one villager speaks up, "What if he is out there, just waiting for us to come out?"

Mafala is about to respond when they all hear it. The crunching footsteps of boots on gravel. Slow, measured steps. Connor counts them in the silence. Even his breathing feels too loud and he keeps his mouth closed as Kevin's hand tightens in his. Kevin clings to him, presses his face against Connor's shoulder and Kevin's shoulders shake with silent sobs. He's terrified, but Connor can't offer him anything but a steady hand on his back.

The General shouts. It's unintelligible to Connor's ears, but the message is clear. It's full of loathing and aggression, and it has the villagers cowering and whimpering in fear.

He's found them. He knows _exactly_ where they are.

Connor hopes the wood stops the bullets.

He braces, closing his eyes and clinging right back to Kevin, waiting for the unmistakable pain of a bullet hitting him. He wonders if he’ll hear the gunshot first. Fear consumes him and he almost can't breathe with the weight of it, a shuddering gasp leaving his lips. He doesn't regret it though. Despite this moment, despite the fact that they might not come out of this alive, or uninjured...he's still glad he came to Uganda. Facing the trials and tribulations of Ugandan life, and getting to know Kevin _\- especially_ getting to be with Kevin - has all been worth it.

The sound of glass breaking and an almighty _whoosh_ snaps Connor from his catastrophising and he's on his feet with Kevin in seconds. The rest of the villagers aren't far behind; someone near him is screaming as flames start to catch to the wood. More bottles are thrown, igniting the front of the town hall and Connor can only back up in horror, his mouth open as he just _stares_. 

Smoke fills the room too quickly and everyone is coughing, Mafala is shouting but Connor can't even hear him as they tumble out of the back door. It's Kevin - _Kevin_ is pulling and tugging and shouting at him to run and Connor can barely hear him either, his legs aren't working but somehow he runs.

Kevin's still half dragging him as they run into the trees.

Connor can't look back.


	9. the general

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Violence, gunfire, fire, shooting. Minor mention of disassociation.

Connor's chest heaves and he can't run anymore; he's more likely to pass out or maybe vomit.

"Kevin, stop, stop..." he wheezes, falling to his knees to try and catch his breath. He knows it's not the most effective way to get more air but his legs are likely to come off if he tries to stand on them much longer.

The trees are thicker here; it's far beyond where they've ever explored which is terrifying in a different way than being in a burning building. It's quiet, at least. If anyone was chasing them, they would've heard them by now.

"Holy fuck," Kevin heaves. His breaths are just as laboured, but somehow he's still up and pacing, "Fuck, Connor. Did you fucking see that?"

"It's okay," Connor promises him inanely, lifting his head from where it's pillowed on his arms, "We're safe now. We ran. Like I said, remember?"

"Holy fuck," Kevin repeats, and he's well on his way to another panic attack, "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

"Hey," Connor says, sitting up on his knees, "Come here."

"He tried to _kill_ us, Connor," Kevin whispers, turning to him with wide, fearful eyes, "He tried to kill us and we were all just crammed together and what if there wasn't a back way out, Connor? What if we had burned to death-"

"Hey!" Connor says, getting to his feet and taking Kevin's hands, "Don't think about that," he soothes softly, "Don't. We're safe. We didn't burn. We're not even hurt, look," he says, patting himself down before pressing his hands to Kevin's chest, "We're okay."

"Our friends..."

Connor's been trying not to think about that. He could barely see as they fell out of the door together; didn't have time to look and make sure the missionaries were out. Couldn't see which villagers needed help. The kids...

He feels sick thinking about it and he pulls Kevin down against a tree with a trunk thick enough that they can sit side by side against it.

"We had a plan," Connor tells him quietly, "To stay in pairs, to look after each other. And to get out if anything happened. They're all just doing that, okay? They're fine."

It's an empty promise, one that Connor can't guarantee, but he has to say _something._

It's then that Kevin's face crumples and he bursts into tears, knees coming to his chest as he covers his face. Connor doesn't blame him; he can feel his own chin quivering.

"C'mere," Connor murmurs, pulling Kevin against his chest. Kevin goes willingly, curling up against Connor's chest and together they sit there and Connor lets Kevin cry it out, the crash of fear and adrenaline exhausting them. Connor can feel tears building behind his own eyes, but he can’t break down – not right now. Kevin needs him. 

"I hate this," Kevin whispers, once he's caught his breath, "I hate being scared all the time. I- I thought we were going to die in there..."

Connor nods, rubbing his back and neck, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "Me too," he whispers softly, "I was just sitting there...waiting to be hit."

Kevin goes quiet and still, before he pulls back slightly. His eyes are red and wet and he looks so earnest that Connor's almost scared for what he's going to say next.

"Connor. I don't want to die without you knowing that I love you."

Connor's breath catches. In any other circumstance, it would be too soon. In any circumstance, being together for a week and having someone telling Connor they loved him would send him running.

But after everything, Connors thinks he may have come to the same conclusion. That despite everything, he'd do it all again because he couldn't imagine his life without Kevin in it.

"I love you too," Connor whispers, unable to stop the words from tumbling from his mouth.

It's true. Painfully true. His chest aches for Kevin when he's not close, and Kevin's pain is his own pain. He knows it's early; that they've barely even started their 'honeymoon' stage...but he can't think of anything more appropriate.

Kevin smiles, weary and relieved, and the kiss they share is soft and sweet. It doesn't last, and Kevin pulls back to curl against his chest again.

"What are we going to do now?"

Connor swallows thickly, his chest warm and tight and he's still incredibly overwhelmed. Too much has happened in such a short time.

"We wait," Connor murmurs, holding him close because Kevin is safety, and that's what he needs right now, "We wait, and then we regroup, and figure out what to do next..."

"I... I can't go back," Kevin murmurs, "Not while he's still there. You- you have no idea, Connor... He scares me so much I can't breathe. I can't function. I just-"

"I know..." Connor cuts him off, trying to stop him from spiralling, "I know. We'll figure something out-"

"No," he whispers, "I...I can't stay. It's too much. I just...can't be here anymore. I know we talked about it in Kampala, but... I was brave, then. He wasn't there. But I can't-"

"Then we'll go," Connor murmurs without a second of hesitation, "We'll go and start our American adventure early."

Kevin sags against him, but he's strangely quiet. He waits a moment before speaking again, "You don't need to leave, just for me."

"I don't want to stay without you."

Kevin barks out a laugh, the sound strange considering all that's happened.

"What?"

"We're ridiculous," Kevin murmurs fondly, leaning up to press another kiss to his lips.

Connor grins, "I know."

They've calmed considerably, mostly due to the fact that they just can't hear anything out here. They have no idea what's happening in the village, and Connor tries not to think about it. They will need shade soon, though. The sun is coming up and it's relentlessly beating down on Connor's skin, which has already started to burn ever so slightly.

"We should...maybe go find some water?" Connor suggests, "Get our bearings, somehow. I don't really know where we are..."

Kevin nods quietly, "East is the river. If we find it, we can follow it south to where the fishing spot is."

Connor looks over at him, impressed, and doesn't question where he's heard this random piece of information. He just nods.

"Good idea. Now...which way is east?"

Kevin makes a face at him, unexpectedly giggling softly as he gets to his feet. Connor follows him up and regrets it immediately, his body protesting after the run.

"Didn't realise you were so bad at orienteering," Kevin tells him, glancing up at the sky, presumably to locate the sun.

"The sun rises in either the east or the west, I know that much..."

Kevin chuckles quietly, finding the sun and using it to point them in the right direction, finding Connor's hand so they can walk together.

"Certain as the sun, rising in the east," Kevin tells him a few moments after they start walking, "From Beauty and the Beast. That's how I remember."

Connor nods slowly, a small smile on his face. Trust Kevin Price to learn his directions from Disney. They walk in silence, hands clasped tightly. It's more of a lifeline than anything that could be considered romantic. Connor feels the weight of the last hour settle heavy in his chest, fear ready to crush him if he lets it in for more than a few seconds at a time. His eyes trail to Kevin, to keep his mind off it.

Kevin walks with his head down, glancing skyward every so often to make sure they're still heading east. Sometimes they have to push past trees, duck under branches, or skirt around dense segments of the forest, and Connor prays he doesn't find some bug or tick that has made its way under his collar. There's tension but it doesn't lie between them, instead hanging thick over their shoulders. Connor doesn't know how to make it go away; doesn't know how to squash the dread.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, because if he doesn't speak, he's going to cry.

A sniffle tells Connor that Kevin's been crying again, and he's relieved he's not the only one still on the verge of tears. Kevin has more cause, he knows, but that doesn't make it any easier for Connor to deal with it either.

"I'm okay," he whispers quietly, "Just- Just can't stop crying."

He sounds frustrated with himself and Connor squeezes his hand, "You can cry," Connor tells him, knowing how much of a hypocrite he is when he was just searching for any excuse not to cry himself.

"Crying isn't going to help," Kevin grumbles stubbornly, wiping his face.

Connor wants to send a rebuttal, to tell him that it's okay to feel and that it might help...but he can only imagine the judgement Kevin's going to serve him back. Far be it from him to tell Kevin how to feel his emotions when Connor can't do it himself.

They reach the river without any trouble, and maybe they're lucky and the wildlife has gone into hiding after the gunshots, or maybe it isn't that dangerous this close to the village. Connor's sure it's the former but trying to believe in the latter option makes him feel a tiny bit safer anyway.

"South now. We'll come to the fishing spot and then we should be able to see the village from there," Kevin murmurs quietly, but he lingers enough that Connor doesn't try to start walking again, "Can we just- can we sit, for a moment?"

Connor nods and together they sit down. Connor doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything, closing his eyes as he sits and tries to think about anything but the village.

"What if we go back and everyone's dead?"

Kevin blurts it so frantically that Connor's eyes snap open, his mouth following suit, "Kevin..."

"What if everything is destroyed, and we have to- to clean up bodies and- if the General is still there and he kills us too and-"

"Kevin, holy shit, stop."

Connor briefly wonders if the reason Kevin shuts up and goes wide-eyed in surprise is because he swore again, but if it is, he doesn't mention it.

"You can't think like that," Connor says softly, scooting closer. He takes Kevin's hand in both of his, squeezing tight, "We can't know what's happened, so we can't think the worst. We just have to be brave a little while longer, make it back to the village and suss out the situation. And then we'll figure out what to do from there, okay? If we try to think of everything now, our heads will explode with the possibilities. Like yours currently is." 

Kevin doesn't look much calmer but he manages to nod. _Be brave._ Connor keeps telling himself that. Stamps it into every fibre of his being because if he's not brave he's going to crumble, and he can't crumble yet.

Connor takes his other hand as well, squeezing both of them tightly, "Come on," he says quietly, "We need to go meet up with the others."

Kevin shakes his head lightly, but his eyes are glazed, and Connor isn’t sure if he actually heard him or not. He's anxious to move though - he can't just sit here, _waiting._ He's also mindful of Kevin's emotions, and the strange headspace he’s found himself in. So instead he frets, picking up twigs and snaps them, trying to listen for any sounds from the village. He still has no idea how far away they are; he can't smell smoke, he can't _hear_ anything.

"Kevin," he whispers, unable to take it any longer as he gets to his feet, "I have to go back, I have to check on everyone, and make sure nobody is hurt or...or-"

"No!" Kevin's eyes are wild and desperate as he lunges for Connor, gripping his arm tightly, "You _can't_ , Connor, you're not a hero. You're not bulletproof. You can't just walk in there and save the day and fix everything. What if they hurt you? What if they hurt you like- like they hurt me?"

Connor swallows thickly, his heart ricocheting in his chest. Kevin's eyes plead with him to stay but he doesn't know if he can. He knows what Kevin is saying; he knows there's danger in going back. Even if he was careful, getting caught would mean death.

He deflates, sitting back down and fidgeting once more, unable to keep his mind off anything else. His own sympathy for Kevin's fear is draining, and he's too caught in his own head to be aware of him anymore. He needs to look after his boys, and right now he doesn't know if any of them are even safe. He can't stay still; pacing up and down the river bank, his thoughts everywhere, until he turns.

"Okay," Connor said. He'd managed ten more minutes and that was enough for him, "Okay, we have to keep moving, Kevin. Down to the fishing spot, at the very least. Then we can stay there, okay? But I have to move, I can't- I can't sit any longer. Please."

Kevin looks up at him, the fight in his eyes gone. Connor's surprised by it; his usually bright, beautiful brown eyes suddenly dull. His brows are drawn low over his eyes and he looks so defeated and tired that Connor's stomach clenches up tight.

"Hey," Connor murmurs quietly, shuffling over to him, "Hey, talk to me."

Kevin shakes his head, getting to his feet. He takes Connor's hand, so at least he knows it's not about him.

"To the fishing spot," Kevin murmurs quietly.

Connor tries not to read too far into it. It's a traumatic time; Kevin's practically reliving his worst nightmare, and once this was all over it would be okay. Maybe Kevin would need some time again, but ultimately they'd work it out together.

They walk slowly now, and at least Connor can concentrate on the path in front of them, picking the best route amongst the foliage of the bank. Kevin is quiet and doesn't offer any sort of conversation, but he clings tightly to Connor and it feels good that Kevin still wants to be close to him. It's one less thing to worry about, at least.

It's another twenty minutes before they reach the fishing spot, having to change course a couple of times to get through the trees before navigating back to the river. It's deserted, and Connor's chest tightens. He had hoped there would be _someone_ here; a villager, or better yet a pair of missionaries. Instead it's painfully quiet.

He can smell the smoke in the air here, which sets off another round of fear and an urge to head into the fray, but Kevin's words echo in his head. He's not a hero.

He's not a hero. But he has to do _something._

"McKinley! Thank fuck."

He heaves the biggest sigh of relief when Davis and Arnold stumble into the clearing. Their clothes are dirty and torn and Arnold's face is red beyond belief from their journey. It seems like they went through a little more than just the undergrowth to get back here.

"Oh my gosh," McKinley murmured, rushing forward to pull both boys into hugs. He can feel Kevin behind him, but the other man doesn't mirror their actions until Arnold pulls him into a hug without giving him a choice, "Are you okay?"

"Freaking out, mostly, but unharmed," Davis tells him, "Have you seen anyone else?"

"Not yet," Connor says, looking back towards the village, "Did everyone make it out?"

"No idea," Arnold says, "We just got out of there as fast as we could and just ran, man. It was crazy!"

"Us too," Connor says, looking back at Kevin. Arnold hasn't let him go, trying to initiate a conversation that Kevin seems to not want any part of.

He's quiet, giving Arnold non-committal, monosyllabic responses to his questions.

"Kevin okay?" Davis asks quietly, noticing the way Connor was looking.

"Not really," Connor murmurs, "I have to- I have to go figure out what's going on at the village. Can you stay with him?"

"Are you crazy?" Davis barks out a laugh, "What on earth are you thinking, going back there?"

"What if they need help? I have medical training-"

"You have a first aid certificate!"

"Well, I have to do _something!"_ Connor snaps, "I can't just sit here, I think I am _actually_ going to go crazy not knowing."

Davis watches him with raised eyebrows, before he heaves a long sigh, "Fine. But I'm going with you,"

"Are you both nuts?" Arnold asks in horror.

Davis shrugs, "Connor's not going to stay here, and he can't go alone. So I guess we're going together. Two by two, right?"

Connor hadn't considered going with someone, but Davis does have a point, "We'll be careful, and keep to the treeline, out of sight"

Arnold winces, "Alright, good luck then. Don’t die, please?”

Connor's startled by the thought, and for a brief moment he wonders if his parents would even be upset. The thought only lingers a moment, because he thinks about Kevin instead. Kevin would be the one devastated if anything happened to him, and he knows that thought will keep him in check.

"Ready?" Connor confirms, and Davis nods. He turns to Arnold, "Keep an eye out for the others, okay?"

Arnold nods, accepting the mission as Connor passes him to step in front of Kevin. He still looks dazed; disassociated from the situation.

"Hey, Kevin."

He blinks, finding Connor to zero in on. He looks exhausted, and Connor wants to hold him and cradle him in his arms and tell him that everything is going to be okay. But there's still danger, and he can't promise that just yet.

"Connor."

"Hey," Connor smiles, glancing back quickly. Arnold and Davis aren't focused on them, their backs turned.

Connor risks it, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Kevin's forehead. It makes him smile, if ever so briefly.

"I'm going to check out the village. I won't be long."

He moves to stand up, but Kevin catches his wrist, holding it tightly, "Connor..."

"I'll be fine," Connor promises, "I'm not going to be stupid, and Davis is coming with me."

Kevin considers it for a moment, but Connor can see he's all but lost him again to the inner recesses of his head. He squeezes Kevin's hand and rubs his shoulder, cupping the side of his neck in comfort for just a moment before he stands again. Kevin lets him this time, and he turns to Davis.

Together they step behind the cover of the trees, making their way quickly along the path to where the village is. Connor's heart is thumping, but he has less fear now he has a purpose. It's simply for information, to make sure they're not hiding for no reason.

It becomes apparent very quickly that there was definitely a good reason.

From their vantage point, Connor can see thirty or so villagers on their knees, huddled in a group. There doesn't seem to be any of the missionaries around, and while Connor's relieved, he's almost just as scared for his other friends. The General's guardsmen surround them, keeping them quiet and obedient with guns as big as their torsos. Connor's heart twists painfully as he catches sight of the town hall - the performance space they worked so hard to repair and make perfect - still smoking. The entire front is black and charred, though the fire seems to be out. There's smoke elsewhere, and Connor wonders if other houses and buildings were targeted as well.

Then Connor finally spots the General. He struts around in those ugly yellow boots, but they're too far away for Connor to know whether he's talking or not. He shares a quick glance with Davis, who looks nervous, but together they inch closer through the trees until they can hear him.

It's a speech about disobedience, but he lapses into Swahili enough that Connor can barely keep up. All Connor knows is that he's _mad,_ getting into the personal space of the villagers, spitting on them where he can _._

"What are we going to do?" Davis whispers, but Connor shakes his head.

"Nothing. We can't _do_ anything. Look at the size of their guns..."

Davis is quiet beside him and probably relieved. Connor's urge to go into the fray has vanished completely. He had only wanted to help, but he hadn't expected the General to still be here. It all happened so differently in his head; he was braver, and there were easy opportunities for him to go in and help. To get villagers away and to run into burning buildings to save scared children. Instead, he finds himself rooted to the spot in fear, unable to come up with a plan and too scared to move even if he did have one.

Suddenly Kevin's fear about having to carry away bodies feels all too likely, and he can feel the panic building in his chest again.

An outburst from the villagers catches Connor's attention and stops him from spiralling into panic.

He watches and recognises Masika get to her feet, her toddler in her arms, "Hey," she calls to her lover, Baako. He ignores her, but the guard closest to her doesn't.

"Get on your knees," he shouts.

"Baako, you'd do this to your son?"

"I said get on your knees, bitch," the guardsman shouts, and Connor holds his breath as he reaches for her throat, paying no heed to the toddler as he forces her to the ground.

Baako stands there, solemn and unmoving, though Connor can see there's tension in his entire body. He wants to go to her, Connor's sure of it.

"Oh, a demonstration I see?"

The General has taken notice of the disruption and he swaggers forward, his pistol drawn. Little Tumelo is wailing and Connor's heart races. Surely he wouldn't hurt Masika, or the child? Connor has heard of the violent tales of what the General was capable of, but somehow associating those stories with real actions hadn't really occurred to him, the reality of it too terrible to make sense. 

"Ah, Masika," the General sneers, circling her where she kneels, "Hoping your little boyfriend would save you, hm?"

She ignores him, trying to sooth Tumelo who sobs against her chest.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you," he says, gesturing to the group with his gun. They all shy away from the weapon with whimpers and cries, leaning into each other in fear, "Your so-called prophet man is nowhere to be seen. Your teachings mean nothing, _he_ has abandoned you, and all that is left is me. At the end of the day, there will just be _me_. And no amount of protection, no amount of fucking my guards, and no amount of disobedience will save you."

Connor can't look away as he pulls back the hammer of the gun, pointing it at Masika's head.

The gunshot pierces the air and Masika screams.

It's followed by several more shots, an automatic going off. More screaming - Masika gets up – unhurt? - and suddenly everyone is on their feet and running. There's shouting and screaming and Connor steps back, further into the trees, trying to understand why Masika isn't bleeding out in front of him.

The crowd disperses, and Connor finally understands.

Instead of Masika, the General lays face down in the dirt. Connor can already see the blood pooling beneath him, and he stares wide-eyed. It's not the first time he's seen a dead body here, but this is the _General._ He's _dead._ Baako stands over his body, the automatic in his hands still smoking from where he unloaded his rounds into the man. 

Two other guardsmen are dead, or maybe just injured - Connor can't tell. The three others still standing seem to be Baako's friends. They'd reacted when Baako started shooting, loyal to him and taking out the two that were not.

It had all happened so quickly. Davis is silent and still beside him, and Connor glances over to check on him. He seems okay, albeit pale. Connor doesn't blame him.

He takes a second to breathe; to try and understand everything he's just seen. It's all part of a story that never quite involved them; a history that they could never really understand. The Warlord's control over the village had spanned far beyond the involvement of the missionaries, and he can't imagine the relief that would come from knowing he wasn't there to terrorise them anymore. 

Finally Connor spots Mafala entering the square, keeping his distance from the General's body. He shakes hands with Baako, and only then does Connor slowly step out from behind the cover of the trees.

"What are you-" Davis hisses, but Connor shakes his head.

"It's okay now," he promises quietly, but Davis still looks nervous.

"I don't- I don't want to go any closer to his- his body. I'm gonna go and tell the others, and see if anyone else came back."

Connor nods, no longer worried about him, and starts walking. He feels drunk and in a daze, barely registering his feet moving and instead feeling like he's floating to his next destination.

Mafala spots him and gives Connor a tired smile, "Good to see you alive."

"And you too," he says quietly, side-eying the body of the General. Already the flies have started to congregate and he has to look away, staring up at the sky instead, "Is he-?"

"Yes. Completely."

Connor nods and his lips tremble slightly but he doesn't know why. He clears his throat, "Is there- was- did we lose many?"

"Sixteen I've counted so far," Mafala says with a bowed head. He's trying to be strong but Connor can see the emotional toll this has taken on him, "The school was lit ablaze, but being so early, nobody was inside, and the fire was out before it could take too much of the building. Several houses were targeted, and those fleeing the flames were shot," he says quietly, "After the town hall was hit, he killed a few stragglers that couldn't get out in time."

Connor's throat seizes, his mouth going dry, "Were-"

"I did not see any white boys amongst the bodies," Mafala assures him, and Connor relaxes ever so slightly, "Are yours accounted for?"

"Three of them are," Connor says, "I think they all got out...I just don't know where they are."

Mafala nods and he looks to the General's body, "Warlords are in abundance. Soon someone will rise to take his place. But the calm that precedes his demise will be welcomed."

It's not a thought that sits well with Connor, and he looks around, spotting the young man responsible for the General's death. He and the other three guardsmen have finally approached the body, presumably to carry it away before the villagers return, "Baako was...really brave to do that...and Masika, for standing up to the General in the first place."

"You'd do anything to keep Price safe, wouldn't you?"

Mafala's always known, it seems. Connor wants to be excited to confirm it, but he thinks he might be teetering on the edge of going into shock instead, "Of course," he murmurs quietly.

"Then you understand how he could not bear the sight of his lover about to be executed."

Connor lets out a shaky breath, and suddenly he's had enough. His body feels too heavy and even though the sun is barely up he feels like he needs to go straight back to sleep. But there are things to be done; he can't rest just yet.

"What do you need us to do?"

~~

When Connor returns to the fishing spot, he's relieved to find that most of the missionaries are there. He does a quick head count, and only Church and Thomas are still missing. At the very least, he knows they'll look out for each other, but he's glad they're together.

"I- uh, filled everyone in," Davis says helpfully, and Connor nods his thanks.

The boys are all quiet, and Connor doesn't really know what to say to start this off.

"Why aren't we happy?" Neeley asks. It's not an accusation; he genuinely seems confused, "We survived. The General is dead..."

"But so are some of our friends," Zelder says quietly, "We won...but at what cost?"

"I know things are really bad right now," Connor says quietly, looking around at them. Kevin looks a little better than he did earlier - he seems more present, at least, and Connor thinks he has Arnold and his incessant rambling to thank for that. Connor can't wait to talk to Kevin properly, now the danger is over, "But we have to help the villagers rebuild, and get things organised today. Mafala has some jobs to get us through, to make sure everyone has somewhere to sleep tonight. The rest will come later, I guess, after everyone's rested."

He expects some resistance; reluctance and protests, lingering fear...but instead they nod and file past him on the way to the village.

Kevin stays, looking at Connor with tired eyes.

"The General is dead," Connor says, just in case Kevin hasn't heard.

Kevin nods, "Somehow I don't feel better."

"Maybe that will come after? Once today is over?" 

"Maybe," Kevin says quietly, "Is there- we should-" he pauses to gather his thoughts, letting out a long breath, "We should help."

"I- I have to wait for Church and Thomas. But...are you sure you're up to it?"

Kevin nods, "I'm okay. I just-" he swallows hard," I couldn't handle it. I just-"

"You don't have to explain," Connor tells him gently, reaching for his hand. The fishing spot is empty, and he feels safe enough to do this. He still feels on the verge of a collapse himself, but he can keep it together for now. Just for now, "I understand."

Kevin nods, squeezing his hand gently, "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," he murmurs automatically, bringing Kevin's hand to his cheek and leaning against it, his own hand providing the support.

"Thank you anyway," Kevin murmurs.

They sit pressed together until a rustle from the bushes has Connor sitting up, his gut clenching with fear. He wonders how long that will last.

Relief floods him when Church and Thomas step out, and he can see they're just as grateful.

"Holy hell," Church murmurs, "We couldn't find this freaking spot," he blurts, "I think we started the wrong way up the river," he says, before looking around, "Are we- Is everyone else-?"

Connor stops him before he can say anything that will fill Connor with anymore dread, "They're fine. The other missionaries are fine. The General's dead, and everyone is back at the village, helping to clean up."

Thomas and Church's eyes bulge at the news, glancing at each other and then to Kevin and Connor.

"Whoa."

"I know," Connor murmurs, heaving a sigh, "Come on. We should go help too. I’ll…fill you in later."

They nod, curious, but they can see that neither Connor or Kevin are up for talking.

"Thanks for waiting," Thomas says, stepping up beside him to nudge his shoulder, "I think we would've thought the worst if we came back to find this clearing empty."

Church nods, falling into step beside them all, and they lapse into silence. It's not easy, and Connor's nerves are still fried. He's hyperaware and nervous and he feels sick at the prospect of potentially seeing more of the dead.

Being amongst his friends makes it easier...but not by much.

~~~

It's a long day.

The burials are the hardest as they take stock of the situation and count those lost, bringing the total to twenty-two. Church writes down the name of each villager, transcribing the stories told to create a memorial page on their blog. Connor wasn't sure it was appropriate at first, but the families seem touched to be included.

The undamaged portion of the school acts as temporary housing for those who lost their homes, and the boys work hard to make it comfortable. At the end of the day, the entire village turns up for a solemn, sombre meal. They sit around a large bonfire until the flames die, conversations sparse. It's not the celebration Connor expected, but in the end it seems strange to celebrate loss. 

When only the coals are left, Connor leads the boys back to their hut, but they linger in the living quarters, none of them quite ready to leave each other.

"Can we...bring the mattresses out here?" Schrader asks in the smallest voice possible, but it seems he's merely a conduit for everyone else's thoughts.

In half an hour, they've created an enormous comfy sleeping area for all of them on the floor. There are no sassy quips when Connor and Kevin put their bedding together, or when Church and Thomas do the same. Around them, the boys find their own places with their companions, finding comfort amongst their friends.

The lights go out and they lay down together in silence. Under the safety of the covers and the darkness, Connor holds Kevin's hand tight to his chest. He's exhausted, his eyes stinging and he can feel a headache looming behind them, but still he can't sleep. He imagines it's the same for everyone else, too, not having heard anyone's sleepy snores.

"Is everyone okay?" Connor asks into the darkness, and the other boys mumble back quiet negatives.

He sits up, pulling Kevin with him until they can lean against the couch. After a lot of shuffling, he can hear that everyone else has done the same thing; reclined against pillows, or couches, to sit up so they all can talk.

"Today was really scary," Connor says gently, trying not to disturb the general ease that's settled over the room, "It's okay if you're not okay after today. We went through a rollercoaster of emotions, and we kind of didn't really know if we were going to make it out alive," Connor says, and he can hear his voice break slightly. He clears his throat, unsure where the sudden emotion has come from, "I understand if you need to take a couple of days to take a break and work through it. If anyone wants to talk about it one on one, I'm here."

He's met with silence, but he didn't really expect much of a response to his speech. It's a comfortable silence, and maybe everyone lets themselves relax for just a moment.

It's nice, until Connor's eyes fill with tears and an uncontrollable sob falls from his lips. It happened so suddenly that even he is startled by it.

Kevin reacts first, "Connor?" he murmurs, "Are _you_ okay?"

Connor wishes he hadn't said anything, nodding, "I'm fine- I'm fine," he whispers, but it comes out choked and he buries his face in his hands as another violent sob wracks his body.

The other boys are asking him questions now, their concern almost palpable in that small room.

He loses focus of their voices when he feels Kevin wrap his arms around him, and Connor leans into his chest without a care for how it might look. Nobody can see them in the dark, anyway. Another hand is on him; not Kevin's, and then another and another and he thinks that maybe all of them have shuffled around him to show their support.

The thought only makes him cry harder, the hands on him a lifeline, tethering him to this space.

He hasn't cried; not really. Not since he got here, almost six months ago, despite everything. He stood strong through every obstacle, hugged the boys when they cried from homesickness, or any number of emotions they faced throughout their time in Uganda. Even when they left the church and his parents disowned him, he had stood stoic, pushing his own feelings aside to ensure he was there for the boys.

But now the dam has burst, and Connor can't stop the tears.

He trembles against Kevin's chest, trying to focus on the comforting hands on his back but he can't get control of himself. He just can't stop _crying_ and he feels ridiculous, but every time he manages a steadying breath, everything in him crumbles again and he presses closer to Kevin.

He can't help but feel like they've come back to square one. The only consolation is that the General is dead now.

Connor remembers their first night. There were only four of them then - Connor, Thomas, Zelder and Michaels. They'd been scared and intimidated, trying to put on brave faces for each other to get them through the night. 

It's the same now, almost as if the last six months have been for nothing.

Not nothing, he reminds himself as he turns his head against Kevin's chest. He has this brilliant boy, this incredible man that has faced the devil himself and came out (mostly) smiling. Who stands beside him and _loves_ him.

The other missionaries have found things here as well. Church and Thomas found each other. Arnold found Nabalungi. Neeley loves fishing, Schrader is good with the children. Small things here and there that they may not have known six months ago. Things that have shaped them and changed them.

His thoughts have all but stopped his tears for now, and he manages to feel a little more hopeful. It's certainly not the last time he'll cry, and at least the emotional crash was to be expected after such a rough day. Now, he's mostly embarrassed. He can still feel several hands on him; soothing and gentle as smaller conversations have broken out amongst them. He doesn't know how to recover from awkwardly crying in front of them all.

He bites the bullet though, clearing his throat and sitting up so the hands fall away, "Uh, sorry about that, everyone."

Kevin reaches up to cup his face in the darkness, thumbing blindly at Connor's cheeks to wipe away the remainder of his tears, "Why are you apologising?"

"Yeah. I think every single one of us has used you as a shoulder to cry on at some point. You're allowed to feel too, McKinley..." Davis tells him.

It's remarkably similar to what Kevin had told him in the hotel room, and Connor's too emotionally fragile at the moment. It makes him tear up again and he swallows thickly, trying to keep it together.

"Thanks," he manages to choke out, and Kevin finds his hands, squeezing them gently.

Luckily Church takes pity on him, changing the subject. It's something mindless and the other boys pounce on the conversation, leaving Connor to collect himself as much as he can. He's properly exhausted now, barely able to keep his eyes open as he listens to them. 

As if Kevin could read his mind (or maybe he could just feel his slump getting lower and lower), he pulls Connor back down onto the mattress, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. Connor's briefly concerned about the others seeing them, if they stay this close in the morning, but it feels too good. He needs Kevin close right now.

It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep to the sounds of his boys talking, only one thought on his mind.

Tomorrow is a latter day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! An actual rollercoaster. I hope you all liked it! And thank you so much everyone for your kudos, your comments, even just clicking on this fic so I can watch the hit counts rise gives me an odd sense of satisfaction. One more to go!


	10. one year, six months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that another month long wait for the last chapter? Yes. Yes it was... (sorry! I didn't want it to end!) 
> 
> Enjoy!

One year and six months passes without further incident.

By incident, Connor means a Warlord coming to your village, killing twenty-two villagers, and leaving your boyfriend scarred, quite possibly for life. He also means the original incident, of getting disowned by your religion and learning to tough it out alone from there onwards.

Compared to that, one year and six months passes relatively smoothly. 

Once the initial shock of the destruction of their village is over, work starts on repairing the school first. Six huts are rebuilt, and one is torn down completely and started from scratch, which is a good opportunity for the boys as they learn about formwork, and stable concrete foundations. They tackle the town hall last, and when it returns to standing proud and tall, they celebrate once more with a strange mixture of triumph and mourning. 

It's a night of more Waragi, of Davis trying (and failing) his hand at stand-up comedy, of Thomas and Church making out in front of everyone, and of Kevin and Connor sneaking off to make out privately. Their hands wander, dangerous and excited and intoxicated, but they don't go any further. It's not the right time. Not yet.

The village starts to move on, the stories start to sound more triumphant, and they remember those that fell with pride and joy rather than sadness. It's hard, but they're starting to be okay.

Kevin takes a little longer to heal, and the nightmares are frequent and aggressive. The week after it all happened, Connor woke up to a scream for the fourth night in a row. It's too soon after the incident for him not to feel the cold grips of fear each time it happens. Thomas lets out a groan because he knows what it is, but he gets to his feet anyway because just like Connor, he's still a little bit scared

Together they stumble wearily to Kevin and Arnold's room, where Arnold is trying to wake Kevin from his nightmares. Some of the other Elders have poked their heads out of their room, sleepy eyed and mildly concerned, but mostly pissed off.

"Hey, buddy, wake up, come on," Arnold's shaking him, but instead of waking, Kevin coils away with soft little whimpers that break Connor's heart.

"Kevin," Connor murmurs softly, crouching on the other side of his bed and taking his hand.

He seems to calm slightly at the sound of Connor's voice so he continues until Kevin stills, then opens foggy eyes to blink up at the ceiling.

"Hey," Connor murmurs quietly. He hears the shuffling of Arnold and Thomas backing out of the room, happy to leave Connor to handle it.

Disoriented, Kevin stares upwards for a moment longer, before he blinks more convincingly and turns to Connor.

"I'm sorry."

Connor shakes his head, squeezing his hand, "What have I told you about apologising, hm?"

Kevin sits up, scooting back so he can lean against the headboard, "I know," he murmurs quietly, "But I bet I woke everyone up again."

Connor shrugs, "So?"

Kevin shrugs back.

"Come on," Connor says softly. It's probably close to four in the morning, he guesses. The sun isn't up and it's certainly got that pre-dawn cold seeping beneath the doors, "Let's go for a walk."

Kevin makes a face, but he slips on his shoes and follows Connor from the room, shooting an apologetic look at his sleepy companions. Only Arnold, Church, Thomas and Davis remain, the others having already retreated back to their rooms.

"Sorry guys," Kevin can't help himself.

Of course, none of them begrudge him, offering him supportive smiles and pats on the back before they head back to their rooms. Connor leads Kevin out the back and together they walk down to the fishing spot. The moon reflects on the water and Connor can hear all the little crickets and bugs amongst the reeds. It's peaceful and sweet and Connor takes Kevin's hand again, squeezing it tight.

"Will it ever get better?"

Connor glances over, eyebrows furrowed at just how hopeless Kevin sounds, "Kevin..."

"Every time I close my eyes, I watch him getting closer and closer," he murmurs, "And sometimes the hell dream comes and he's there too, sometimes he's Satan."

Connor wishes that Kevin would cry. He wishes that there was some anger, or fear; that there was something in his voice besides this stone cold numbness. He sounds resigned, so unlike Kevin that it scares Connor, just a little.

"It will get better," Connor promises, "I know it doesn't feel like that right now, but the further and further away we move from it, the less intense it will feel."

Kevin stares up at the sky, sighing quietly. It's clear he doesn't believe Connor.

"Talk to me," Connor tells him softly.

"Just want the nightmares to stop," he whispers, "I can deal with it during the day. It's fine then. It's just...whenever I let my guard down..."

Connor thinks for a moment, feeling helpless, before he remembers their time in Kampala.

"I know we joked about swapping roommates...but maybe we should consider it?" 

Kevin turns his head, curious, "What?"

"You slept easier in Kampala. Maybe if we were together...it would help?"

Kevin thinks for a moment, before he shrugs, "Maybe."

"We could try it," Connor says, trying to make the moment all about Kevin, and ignoring the sudden fear but also excitement that shoots through his chest. _Sleeping with Kevin. Full time._ To help him sleep, Connor instructs himself forcefully. It's not about anything else.

The light of dawn has slowly started to creep over the horizon, and Connor shivers a little from the cold. It must've been later than he thought. The birds are starting to wake up to begin their incessant chirping, and he can see movement beneath the water now. He hopes it's just fish.

He hates seeing Kevin like this and desperately wants him to feel better, but there's nothing he can say or do to change that. He hopes that just being there for him is enough.

It's half an hour later that Kevin finally heaves a sigh and squeezes his hand. The sun is making it's way up in earnest now, and any cool air that came with the dawn has now turned into aggressive heat.

They return to a home full of activity. Thomas and Church are making breakfast, Zelder and Davis are playing jacks in the corner, and the others are all in varying degrees of awake-ness, spread out across the couches. Once they're through the door, Neeley stands and turns to them.

"Good. You're back. I just wanted to say, you know, and I'm not speaking on behalf of everyone, but I'm pretty sure I could be if I asked around, but, you know, as fun as it is to wake up several times in the night to screaming, reliving our worst nightmares, I think it's time we put an end to it." 

Connor bites back every sour response that crosses his mind, but he can't help but fold his arms as he glares at Neeley, his defences up.

"I don't think you can just ask trauma to go away," he finally settles on, not wanting to start world war three.

"Trauma," Neeley scoffs, "No more than the rest of us."

Connor had forgotten that the others didn't know. Church and Thomas had suspected, and Kevin had given them bits and pieces of his run-in with the General, but nobody really _knew_ what had happened when Kevin disappeared for a few days. It makes Connor's blood boil and he grits his teeth.

"It's not your place to give someone a timeline on when they should get over things? You might not know the whole story." Connor says, his ability to stay calm impressing even himself. He had kept his voice level, with only a tiny bit of fist clenching. All calm things.

"Yeah, well some of us would like to get a full eigh-"

"You know what? Shut the fuck up, Neeley," Kevin finally speaks, decidedly not as calm as Connor managed to be, "Just- shut up and get on with your day. I'll sort it out."

Neeley looks ready to fight back, but he quickly reads the room, catching the eye of Connor, Thomas, Church and Arnold as well. He thinks better of it, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever," he grumbles, turning away and retreating to his bedroom, "But you better figure out something soon before I lose my freaking mind."

Connor and Kevin look at each other, Connor's earlier suggestion burning between them, but it's Thomas who speaks up, "What if Connor stays with Kevin? He's the best at calming Kevin down. Maybe he can head it off before it wakes the rest of us."

"That's...actually what we were thinking too," Kevin admits, scrubbing his hand over his face.

"Don't listen to Neeley," Church speaks up, "Don't go thinking you're some kind of burden. He's just an asshole and he can leave if he's got a problem."

"Yeah," Davis speaks up, "He can go sleep with the lions, if he wants."

Kevin offers them a small smile, a thank-you for their understanding.

Surprising nobody, Thomas pipes up, "While we're on the subject of switching roommates..." he says with a devilish smile, staring pointedly at Church.

Connor chuckles when everyone reluctantly agrees, and glances back to Kevin to make sure he's okay. Despite his smile, he looks tired, and Connor watches him head over to Arnold, presumably to talk to him about shifting rooms.

It's a big change, but he hopes Arnold will understand.

~~

When the shift has been approved by all parties, Kevin and Connor shift the mattresses and push the beds together, similar to how it was in Kampala.

The first night, everyone sleeps through. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The second night, Kevin wakes up sweating and gasping for breath, but Connor's right there with sweet whispers of comfort and love, soothing him and sneaking out to the fresh night air to talk.

The nights go on and the nightmares still plague him, but he barely wakes up screaming. When he does, nobody mentions it, even though Neeley still glares at him from time to time. 

But as good as the arrangement is for Kevin, Connor finds their newfound privacy is dangerous.

It starts innocently enough, like all things. A quick kiss before bed, wishing each other goodnight before they cuddle. Connor finds Kevin sleeps better if he's the little spoon, but sometimes Kevin likes to be the one with his arms around Connor. After a week, it turns into a make-out session before bed that often leaves Connor breathless and unable to fall asleep easily.

"We need to stop," Connor murmurs one night.

Kevin groans quietly from where his mouth is occupied by Connor's clavicle.

"Why?" Kevin mumbles, pulling off before pressing sweet little kisses around the same area, "I'm having fun."

" _Because_ ," Connor says impatiently, reaching down to cup Kevin's jaw, giving him a pointed look. It's the same look he gave him in Kampala; the one that meant they were going a little too far.

Instead of pulling away like usual, Kevin's eyes darken slightly. He gets more comfortable where he's perched on Connor's chest.

"Is that really a problem?" he asks softly, and very slowly he shifts so he can rub his leg up against the tenting of Connor's pyjama pants.

Connor's eyes widen as he stares at Kevin, " _Kevin_ ," he hisses, mortified.

"Hey, hey, relax," Kevin says quietly, and shifts again until Connor can feel that Kevin's just as hard. And _hell_ , it does things to Connor he doesn't quite understand, unbelievably turned on just from the knowledge that Kevin's like that just from _kissing_ him.

Connor can feel his heart thumping beneath his chest. Kevin's eyes are trained on him, probably gauging his reaction, and Connor simply pulls him up and kisses him desperately.

"I want to touch you," Kevin whispers against his lips when they finally pull apart for air, and Connor's breathless all over again.

"Kevin..."

"Can I?"

Connor hesitates, and that's enough for Kevin to pull right back, tilting his head curiously, "Talk to me," he says gently, "What are you afraid of?"

It's silly, and Connor's face is flushed but not just from how turned on he is, "It's not you," he promises quietly, "And I want you to, trust me," he assures him.

"Then...what is it?"

"I'm afraid it's going to be so good we aren't going to be able to stop...but mostly that everyone will be able to hear us."

Kevin snorts out a quiet laugh, thunking his head against Connor's chest, "You're cute."

"It's a valid fear," Connor protests, mindful of Kevin's hand as it wanders from his chest to his hip.

"Are you sure that's all it is?" he asks quietly, thumb rubbing circles into the bare skin of Connor's waist, where his sleep shirt has ridden up. 

Connor considers for a moment, before finally he lets out a quiet breath, "Maybe I'm a little afraid, too."

Kevin's hand stills again, no longer egging him on, "Afraid of what?"

"Of...doing things wrong," Connor says, and he can feel he's blushing and he's embarrassed to be even having this conversation, "Of...not knowing what to do and-" he rolls his eyes at himself, "You know me, Kevin. Everything has to go perfect and according to plan."

"I think we can both agree we're as neurotic as each other," Kevin says with a laugh, dropping a kiss to his chest.

"How do you get through it then? This- uncertainty? Of wanting, but not being sure...how can you do it?"

Kevin fixes him with a big, beautiful smile, and he reaches up to cup Connor's jaw. Stroking the apple of his cheek, he says very simply, "By knowing that this isn't something I'll lose if everything does go wrong."

It's as if someone has shoved a pin into the inflated balloon of stress that Connor has become. He deflates, suddenly at ease. It was easy to tell himself that there was no pressure, harder to practice it. But the way Kevin had worded it made it all suddenly make sense.

He pulls him up again, needing to kiss him; needing Kevin's lips on his to send the message home. A gear has shifted between them and when they part, they're panting, eyes dark as they stare.

"I want you to touch me," Connor whispers. He's still embarrassed; the words are still hard to say, but it's easier now he _knows_ , "But I don't want...anything further," he tells him meaningfully, locking eyes with Kevin, "Not here." 

Kevin nods, serious and understanding, and they seal it with a deep kiss, slower and less frantic than the rest of them. Their agreement is all Kevin needs to take it further; for his hand to slide from Connor's hip to the bulge in his pants.

Like everything that Kevin Price is sure of, he acts with unapologetic confidence and ease, his eyes steady and unwavering as they lock onto Connor's.

He loses his breath as Kevin touches him, working his hand under his pyjama pants until he can make contact.

Connor's breath catches, his eyes squeezing shut and missing the wide, triumphant smile on Kevin's face when he lets out a breathy little, "Oh, shit."

~~~

Kevin talks about leaving a lot. Ever since the morning of the attack, he promises Connor that 'next week' they'll leave. Once they've finished repairs, they'll leave. Once this project is completed, they'll leave. After Christmas, they'll probably leave.

The Christmas celebration, called Sekukulu, lasts most of the week, as they mash the Ugandan traditions with the traditions from their own homes. Stories are told, feasts are had, and the missionaries splurge on extra supplies from Kampala to ensure the entire village is taken care of. 

After Christmas, Kevin continues to promise timeframes until they're six months away from the end of their mission. Connor listens patiently, never rushing him, until Kevin admits that leaving after everything was too hard. He had seen Kitguli go through so much, abandoning them seemed like he was turning their back on them. That was a guilt he couldn't live with, even though for the first few months after the incident, being in the village was torturing him.

It's also in the final six months that Nabalungi expresses an interest in returning to America with them. Mafala says no, but that doesn't stop her from going to the Embassy with Arnold when it's their turn to go to Kampala, to find out exactly what she needed in order to get a passport and a visa. When they write about it in the blog, they're encouraged by their thousands of followers, and more donations flood the account to help her get there.

Compared to their first six months which felt like they'd never end, the final six months fly by.

Together with Thomas and Church, Connor compiles a series of photographs that show the way the village changed for their final blog post as a full group. There are plenty of shots from their first few months, and the comparison between them and what they've built and changed is so easy to see. They've made a tangible difference here, and in his final week, Connor can't help but reminisce. He and the other missionaries thought they'd left America as men, ready to take on the world, but they were so wrong. It was the trials and tribulations of Uganda that helped them grow.

Finally, the last day of their two years comes.

Two years.

Two years of the red Ugandan soil. Of fishing for their dinners and sleeping on cots barely big enough for their lanky bodies. Of bug bites and scratchy sheets, the fear of the wildlife and the relentless heat.

But also of the Kitguli villagers, of Kimbay and Mafala and Gotswana. Of their friendship and compassion, of teaching the school children and giving their own wisdom. Of laughter and joy around the campfires, sharing meals and experiences.

Connor's heart aches as he finishes packing, taking his suitcase out to the main room of the missionary hut to where Kevin's is. The hut is sturdier now than it ever had been when they arrived, and now has another exit out the back for emergencies.

"All packed?" Thomas asks from the couch, swinging his legs restlessly.

It's only the four of them leaving today; Connor, Kevin, Thomas and Church. Schrader and Neeley would leave within the week, on flights back to their hometowns. Nabalungi is still waiting for her approvals, so Arnold of course wanted to stay. Zelder, Michaels and Davis seemed intent on staying even longer, extending their own visas for another year. They promise to keep the blog going, not wanting to disappoint the thousands of supporters.

"All packed," Connor confirms, patting his suitcase. He'll do another sweep of the place before he leaves, just to make sure they haven't forgotten anything.

"Part of me doesn't want to go," Thomas admits quietly, looking around, "This place is home, you know? It's hard."

"Yeah," Connor agrees, trying hard to shove down the emotion slowly building its way up his chest. He knows it's not good for him, but there's no use in getting emotional right now. He'll cry later, when they leave, "I know what you mean," he tells him quietly, "They're our family..."

"Not to mention the fact that it feels selfish for us to just turn around and leave because we want to go back to our American lives, with our shelter and food on demand and-"

"Hey," Connor cuts him off gently, moving to sit next to him, "You know that's not why we're leaving though."

Thomas sighs and nods, leaning back against the couch and staring at the roof, "I know."

"We came here to help," Connor reminds him, "And we did. We made lasting impact on Kitguli, things they'll never forget. We raised awareness and helped financially too."

Thomas nods slowly, glancing up when both Kevin and Church enter the hut.

"Everyone's come to say goodbye..."

"Oh no," Thomas murmurs as tears flood his eyes.

Hugging and crying follows. Connor hugs everyone just a little too tightly, wishing them well and telling them to stay in touch. He knows it will be hard, the letters will only come back from Kampala once a month, and he's not even sure he knows how to post a letter, but he'll figure it out. For them.

Mafala offers to drive the four of them to Entebbe, but Church still doesn't trust that car. Instead they tearfully pile into the bus, waving out of the window to their friends.

Connor's heart is pounding and briefly he wonders if he's making a mistake by leaving.

America is an unknown. A country where he has no parents, no safety net. Just Kevin, and a half-hearted plan to find himself in a brutal industry. It's exhilarating and horrifying all at once, and strange that America could seem so foreign to him when going to Uganda felt exactly the same, two years ago.

Kevin's hand squeezing his own brings him back to reality, and he gives one final wave as the bus pulls away.

The four of them fall into the long seat at the very back of the bus, all of them exhaling heavily.

"This is it then," Thomas says, wiping his eyes dry.

"This is it," Church confirms.

"We're on our way," Kevin murmurs, triumphant and forlorn all at once.

Connor just nods, his mind still racing.

It's only later, sitting in the aeroplane with Kevin's heavy head on his shoulder, that the fear starts to recede.

He doubts anything could compare to the last two years. They suffered, and maybe little parts of them are still suffering. The beautiful man by his side still hurts sometimes, and often Connor can't get the imagine of the General lying facedown in the dirt out of his head.

America will be scary, but maybe not quite like the fear he's known.

He reaches between the seats to find Kevin's hand, squeezing it even though he's asleep.

This journey; this two years of his life is over. A journey he never expected, taking so much of his energy, emotionally and physically. It took everything from him and he feels different. Older and wiser, a little more hollow, but also full to the brim with knowledge and experience. He can't articulate it in a way that makes sense, but it's not something he'd ever trade.

Out the window the red, unforgiving dirt starts to get smaller and smaller. Connor lets out a long breath as the clouds start to engulf the plane.

With a smile, he says goodbye to Uganda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof. Thank you all for coming on this journey with me and supporting me. Every hit, kudos and comment gives me life and I couldn't thank each and every one of you enough. It was a lot of fun and I'm still incredibly surprised that it managed to be what it was.
> 
> As always thank you to my sister for her edits, notes, tips, hints and encouragement - I've linked her in the first chapter so please go check her out, she writes BoM as well (amongst other things)! 
> 
> And thank you to the Book of Mormon Australian cast who were the inspiration for this fic (if you'd love some face claims, please enjoy Blake Bowden as Price, Joel Granger as McKinley, Nyk Bielak as Cunningham, Patrick Whitbread as Neeley (also pls don't get me wrong I love Patrick with all my heart but somehow Neeley is just always the asshole??) and Matt Holly and Morgan Palmer as my Church and Thomas respectively. 
> 
> I've talked about a sequel a lot and I still have plans, but I doubt they will be any time soon! Gotta get bit by that writing bug again!


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